I 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


The  Stalwarts;  or,  Who  were  to  Blan^e? 

FRANCES    MARI6   NORTON, 


(OCITEAU'S  0SL7  SISTEE) 


Author    and    Pulillsher, 

1200  Wasash   Avenue:, 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Archive 

in  2010  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/stalwartsorwhoweOOnort 


THE  STALWARTS; 


OR, 


Who  Were  to  Blame  ? 


A   NOVEL, 
Portraying   Fifty   Yea.r^   of 

AMERICAN  HISTORY, 

Showing  those  political  complications  which  have,  in  the  United  States 
culminated  in  Civil  War,  and  even  in  the 

Assassination  of  two  good  Presidents. 

BY 

Frances  NIarie  Norton, 

THE   ONLY   SISTER  OP 

CHARLES    T.  GUITEAU. 


CHICAGO: 
FRANCES   MARI^   NORTON,  Publisher, 


To  the  eternal  principles  of  Justice  and  Truth;  to  "vox 
populi,"  scattered  abroad  over  God's  beautiful  earth,  and  in 
whom  ever  dwelleth  that  spirit  of  Liberty  divine  upon  wrhich 
Republics  stand;  to  my  imperilled  countrymen;  to  my  friends, 
adversity  proved;  to  a  proud  and  honored  ancestry;  to  my 
children,  who  are  not  to  blame,  are  these  pages  reverently  and 
affectionately  dedicated,  by  the  Author. 


Copyright,  1889,  by  Frances  Marie  Norton, 


PREKAC  E. 


During  an  extremely  trying  sojourn  in  Washington  in  the 
winter  of  1S81-2,  I  received  impressions,  which  growing  into  a 
conviction,  impelled  me  to  this  work,  which  I  now  present  to  a 
magnanimous  public. 

I  was  persuaded  that  in  many  political  movements  instigated 
by  unscrupulous  men  aspiring  to  leadership,  who,  by  trickery, 
are  able  to  deceive  the  people,  there  was  danger  to  the  Republic. 
Notably  was  this  true  as  to  our  civil  war,  ending  in  the  assassin- 
ation of  Lincoln,  and  of  the  intrigues  which  led  to  the  assassin- 
ation of  Garfield — a  catastrophe  which  came  near  plunging  our 
country  into  anarchy,  which  must  surely  have  been  followed  by 
a  military  dictatorship — perhaps  an  established  monarchy. 

In  order  to  portray  in  its  true  light  unwritten,  yes,  sup- 
pressed history,  with  which  myself  and  those  dear  to  me  are 
inseparably  connected,  I  was  obliged  to  go  into  the  past  for  the 
causes  which  led  to  the  final  disaster,  both  as  to  actors  and  events ; 
as  to  actors  even  into  pre-natal  conditions  and  misfortunes, 
as  to  events  into  the  political  excitements  antedating  our  civil 
war.  I  was  well  aware  that  the  mere  fact  of  one  man  shooting 
another,  even  though  he  were  insane,  and  perhaps  unjustly  pun- 
ished, was  of  little  interest  to  the  general  public;  but  when  one 
victim  was  the  Chief  Magistrate  of  a  great  Nation,  and  there 
was  good  reason  to  believe  that  the  other  was  but  a  "  scape- 
goat" for  those  who  were  really  to  blame,  then  it  possessed  un- 
doubted value. 

With  painful  difiidence  I  approached  that  historic  climax 
coming  so  near  my  own  heart — history  bloody  with  tragedy, 
bitter  with  prejudice,  black  with  wrong;  history  which  must 
ever  have  a  world-wide  interest — must  ever  arouse  a  world- 
wide regret.  And  I  now  ask  considerate  attention,  because 
never  before  has  it  been  truthfully  depicted;  neither  can  it  be 
except  by  the  unwilling  author  of  this  sad  book. 

At  the  last  moment,  after  holding  my  manuscript  for  five 
years  unpublished,  I  am  still  conscious  of  an  uncontrollable  tim- 
idity at  the  thought  of  again  coming  prominently  into  view  in 
this  connection,  and  am  unspeakably  grateful  for  the  company 
of  such  names  as  Dr.  W.  W.  Godding,  Senator  J.  R.  Doolittle, 
Judge  Thos.  A.  Moran,  Rev.  H.  W.  Thomas,  D.  D.,  Fernando 
Jones,  Esq.,  Prof.  A.  A.   Woodbridge  of  Boston,  Gen.  Wm. 

500463 


IV  PREFACE. 

Singleton,  J.  L.  Whitlock,  Judge  Charles  B.  Waite,  Mrs. 
Catherine  V.  Waite,  Rev.  Samuel  Fallows,  D.D.,  Prof.  Jay 
Powers,  and  others — ladies  and  gentlemen  with  whom  I  have 
the  honor  of  a  personal  acquaintance  and  count  my  friends, 
and  who  have  kindly  given  me  letters  of  commendation  to  be 
published  with  this  preface,  and  which  will  be  found  attached 
to  the  same. 

A  sense  of  grievous  wrong  could  alone  have  impelled  me  to 
this  unpleasant  task;  of  wrong  done  to  the  people,  to  my  dead 
brother,  his  honored  ancestry,  to  myself,  to  my  children. 

I  knew  from  what  I  had  seen  in  Washington  that  a  dark 
mystery  shrouded  the  assassination  of  the  lamented  Garfield; 
that  a  tale  which  had  never  been  fully  told  even  to  me  had  died 
with  my  crazy  brother's  last  breath;  that  somebody  was  using 
every  endeavor  to  cover  somebody's  tracks,  somebody's  com- 
plicity, in  the  terrible  tragedy  which  had  been  and  was  being 
enacted. 

My  brother  had  given  me  names  and  directions  as  to  ap- 
proaching certain  men  in  his  behalf,  but,  unhappily,  I  had  not 
heeded  his  instructions.  After  he  was  gone,  I  was  convinced 
by  certain  developments  that  he  had  not  "  reckoned  without 
his  host."  As  I  looked  more  into  the  facts,  as  knowledge  came 
to  me  from  watching  events,  especially  the  "  Star-Route  "  trial 
and  the  re-investigation  demanded  by  the  people  who  felt  that 
justice  had  not  been  dealt  out  to  the  guilty,  and  when  the  testi- 
mony of  Ex-Postmaster-General  James  was  published,  m.y  eyes 
were  opened,  and  I  perceived  the  clue  to  the  mysterious  hints 
which  had  been  given  me,  and  recognized  the  connection  be- 
tween the  assassination  of  Garfield  and  the  final  outcome  of  the 
"  Star-Route  "  affair — the  virtual  acquittal  of  every  one. 

Tes^  the  '-''Star-Route'''^  business  killed  Garfield!  The 
claifu^  '■'•The  Stalwarts  are  my  friends^''  hung  Guiteau! 

This  connection  he,  in  his  blind  zeal  for  God  and  country, 
did  not  see.  To  his  mind  it  was  "  The  Deity  "  who  called  him 
to  set  the  affairs  of  the  nation  right,  by  removing  the  impeding 
President,  thus  preventing  the  civil  war  which  he  believed  a 
collision  between  the  "Stalwarts"  and  the  Garfield  faction 
would  precipitate.  This  was  the  lever  used  upon  his  warped, 
deranged  mind  by  designmg  politicians  to  accomplish  their  end. 

Only  the  great  God  can  ever  know  the  misery  of  soul  which 
I  compassed  in  those  weary  months  when  Garfield  lay  dying, 
while  those  lying  messages  as  to  his  condition  were  flying  over 
the  wires;  while  the  doctors  were  probing,  honestly  or  other- 


PREFACE,  V 

wise,  and  the  burrowing  pus  was  draining  his  Hfe  away  from 
a  blood-poisoned  body;  while  Wall-street  stocks  were  manipu- 
lated as  cipher  dispatches  came  secretly  from  that  bedside,  where 
a  suffering  President's  pulse  went  up  with  rallying  strength,  or 
down  in  deathly  weakness — information  thus  furnished  for  the 
benefit  of  kingly  potentates,  while  to  the  plebian  populace  was 
sent  a  different  story,  over  those  same  wires,  from  the  same  source. 

I  prayed  and  prayed  those  months,  as  did  the  Christian 
world,  with  bated  breath  and  stilled  heart — praying  for  that 
stricken  life;  but  no  answer  came  until  at  last  the  midnight  cry, 
"  The  President  is  dead!  the  President  is  dead!"  resounding 
through  the  streets,  struck  our  faith  dumb  with  grief.  Then 
came  the  torturing  experience  of  my  three  months  in  Wash- 
ington, where  I  sat,  day  by  day,  sadly  watching  the  legal  chi- 
canery of  a  criminal  trial;  watching  a  crazy  brother — crazy 
from  pre-natal  conditions,  born  to  be  crazy ^  born  to  be  made  the 
tool  of  crafty  politicians — now  brought  before  a  tribunal  of  his 
countrymen,  charged  with  the  malicious  murder  of  his  Presi- 
dent. Watching  the  iniquity  of  that  trial,  I  cried  out:  "  If 
there  be  a  God,  why  does  he  not,  from  high  heaven,  smite  these 
evil-doers?  "  But  the  time  was  not  yet,  and  I  held  my  soul  in 
patience,  while  the  wrong  progressed  to  the  bitter  end — first,  the 
death  of  Garfield,  then  the  barbarous  execution  of  my  crazy 
brother.  And  I  thought  if  such  an  unfair  trial  is  forced  by 
bitter  prejudice,  backed  by  the  power  of  a  corrupt  administra- 
tion and  the  money  of  the  United  States  treasury,  upon  one  man 
in  this  republic,  what  protection  at  the  hands  of  law  can  any 
man  expect  accused  of  crime,  whether  justly  or  unjustly,  should 
it  be  for  the  interest  of  the  ruling  dynasty  to  convict  him?  And 
further,  if  one  set  of  politicians  can,  by  instigating  the  assassi- 
nation of  a  ruler,  even  in  so  indirect  a  way  as  by  the  public 
prints,  thus  changing  the  current  of  administrative  events  and 
accomplishing  their  selfish  purpose,  what  is  then  to  hinder 
others  from  doing  likewise? 

But  God  is  not  always  mocked.  His  judgments  are  just,  His 
punishments  sure;  and  observing  carefully  the  unerring  march 
of  His  Providence,  one  after  another  of  those  whom  the  world 
to-day  believes  more  or  less  responsible  for  the  tragedy  we  are 
considering  have  already  been  seen  to  cross  the  dark  river,  may 
w^e  hope,  not  unrepentant,  not  unforgiven.  Sad,  when  life  is  so 
short,  they  had  not  lived  with  the  thought  of  Eternity  ever  in 
view. 

With  malice  towards  none,  charity  towards  all,  I  send  out  this 


vi  PREFACE. 

my  work,  for  justice  and  truth's  sake,  trusting  .the  American 
people  may  be  warned  by  the  near  approach  to  anarchy  and  a 
mihtary  dictatorship,  the  sure  precurser  of  a  fallen  republic  and 
an  established  monarchy,  which  they  so  narrowly  escaped,  and 
which  must  have  resulted  from  an  expose  of  the  absolute  facts 
of  the  Garfield  assassination,  had  a  revelation  occurred  during 
the  prevalence  of  the  intense  excitement  succeeding  the  e  ^ent, 
and,  being  warned,  may  they  carefully  watch  their  leaders,  those 
who  aspire  to  govern,  and  see  to  it  that  only  good  men  are  placed 
in  power,  not  crafty  politicians;  and  may  our  beloved  republic 
live  long,  and  Liberty  remain  ever  firm  upon  her  pedestal. 

Frances  Marie  Norton. 


Chicago,   Sept.  21,   1888. 
Mrs.  Frances  Marie  Norton: 

Dear  Madam — I  have  read  portions  of  your  manuscript  "The  Stalwarts, 
or  "  Who  were  to  Blame? "  and  take  pleasure  in  commending  it  to  the  public 
as  a  book  of  more  than  ordinary  literary  merit. 

Very  respectfully,  Wm.   F.  Singleton, 

Member  State  Central  Com.  of  Prohibition  Party. 


Chicago,   Sept.  27,  1888. 
Having  seen  some  extracts  of  the    forthcoming  work  of   Mrs.    Frances 
Marie  Norton,  sister  of  the  unfortunate  Guiteau,  I  shall  await  its  coming 
with  interest.     It  may  shed  light  on  the  question  of  his  sanity  or  insanity; 
and  of  the  causes  which  led  to  the  assassination  of  President  Garfield. 

J.    R.    DOOLITTLE, 


Chicago,   III.,   Sept.  20,   1888. 
Mrs.  Frances  M.  Norton  : 

My  Dear  Madam — I  have  looked  over  your  forthcoming  work  in  the 
form  of  a  historical  novel,  and  am  much  impressed  with  the  vivid  delinea- 
tion of  various  characters  and  episodes  depicted  therein.  Your  treatment 
of  the  subject  of  the  vicious  spoils  system  of  our  politics  is  masterly,  and 
evinces  a  deep  insight  into  the  character  and  motives  of  many  of  our  public 
men,  and  the  dangers  growing  out  of  the  same.  While  I  can  hardly  go 
with  you  to  the  extent  you  indicate  on  the  question  of  the  responsibility  of 
the  assassination  of  President  Garfield,  I  appreciate  your  diatribes  against 
the  system  which  produced  the  awful  catastrophe,  and  am  persuaded  your 
work  will  tend  to  open  the  eyes  of  the  American  people  to  the  enormity  of 
that  system.  Very  truly  yours,  Fernando  Jones. 

Chicago,   III.,   Sept.  20,    1888. 
Mrs.  Frances  M.  Norton. 

Dear  Madam — In  answer  to  your  inquiry  (made  in  connection  with  an 
examination  of  your  forthcoming  historical  novel),  as  to  my  impression  of 
the  condition  of  mind  of  Charles  J.  Guiteau,  I  make  the  following  state- 
ment— 


PREFACE.  vii 

You  know  I  was  well  acquainted  with  him,  and  was  present  at  his  trial 
and  a  witness  in  it.  From  my  previous  knowledge  of  Guit^^au  and  from  the 
evidence  upon  his  trial  I  never  had  any  doubt  of  his  insanit} ,  and  am  per- 
suaded that  was  the  general  feeling  of  all  who  witnessed  the  trial.  Still, 
the  public  furore  against  the  assassination  and  the  assassin  was  so  great 
that  the  verdict  was  in  a  measure  forced  upon  the  court  and  jury  by  the 
strong  feeling  that  pervaded  the  whole  community,  even  the  whole  nation. 
Truly  yours,  Fernando  Jones. 


Chicago,  Oct.  ii,  1888. 

I  have  been  for  many  years  acquainted  with  Frances  Marie  Norton,  and, 

from  that  acquaintance,  and  from  what  I  have  seen  of  the  recommendations 

of  others,    1   heartily   recommend  her   forthcoming  book    "Who    were    to 

Blame?"  to  the  reading  public,  believing  it  will  be  a  work  of  unusual  interest. 

C.   B.   Waite. 
Catherine  V.  Waite. 


■  I  have  become  acquainted  with  the  general  scope  of  the  work  written  by 
Mrs.  Norton,  "  Who  were  to  Blame?  "  and  shall  look  with  great  interest  for 
its  publication  I  have  no  doubt  the  lessons  contained  in  the  book  will  be 
of  great  value  to  the  American  public.  Samuel  Fallows. 


Chicago,   Sept.   27,    1888. 
Mrs.  F.  M.  Norton,  1200  Wabash  ave.,  City: 

Dear  Madam — We  have  gathered  enough  from  the  original  manuscript  of 
your  book  to  confirm  us  in  the  opinion  that  the  work  will  prove  most  in- 
teresting and  profitable  reading  to  the  young  and  old  alike.  We  trust  the 
book  will  soon  find  its  way  into  the  library  of  every  home. 

Very  respectfully  yours,  J.    L.   Whitlock. 


Chicago,   Oct.  i,   1888. 
Mrs.  Frances  Marie  Norton: 

I  have  read  some  extracts  from  your  book — about  to  be  published — and 
I  have  no  doubt  that  all  who  may  read  the  book  when  completed  will  find 
much  to  admire  in  it,  and  will  learn  much  from  it.  The  historical  novel 
may  be  made  the  means  of  illustrating  phases  of  our  National  life,  and  of 
pointing  out  factors  in  political  movements  that  are  known  to  but  few. 
The  period  which  you  propose  to  draw  your  facts  from,  the  last  fifty  years  of 
history,  bristles  with  significant  events.  T.   A.    Moran. 


The  tragedies  of  the  world  are  never  forgotten,  they  are  studied  by  all 
minds,  and  hence  live  not  only  in  history,  but  in  art,  in  poetry,  in  fiction 
and  the  drama.  Seven  out  of  ten  of  the  Roman  Emperors  of  the  first  Cen- 
tury were  assassinated;  only  tw^o  presidents  of  the  United  States  have  died 
violent  deaths,  and  hence  there  has  arisen  in  our  country  so  very  little  of  this 
peculiar  form  of  tragic  literature;  if,  indeed,  "Who  were  to  Blame?  "  is  not 
the  first.  From  her  peculiarly  trying  and  intimate  relation  to  the  events 
of  which  she  writes,  the  author  felt  their  fullest,  saddest  force,  and  hence 
the  work  naturally  shows  traces  of  deep  feeling;  but,  at  the  same  time,  it  is 
calm  and  aims  to  be  fair.  From  the  few  selections  examined,  I  judge  it 
possesses  more  than  ordinary  literary  merit. 

H.  W.   Thomas. 
Chicago,  Oct.  4,  1S88. 


viii  PREFACE. 

Chicago,  Oct.  15,  1888. 
I  have  read  the  manuscript  of  "The  Stalwarts;  or,  Who  Were  to 
Blame  ?"  and  regard  it  as  a  story  of  thrilling  interest,  which  should  be  read 
by  every  American  citizen.  The  writer  has  chosen  scenes  of  our  own 
country  and  characters  of  our  own  times,  and  into  the  warp  of  historical 
fact  has  interwoven  the  woof  of  a  pleasing  fiction.  Through  scenes  the 
most  thrilling  of  the  past  fifty  years,  and  with  characters  the  most  con- 
spicuous of  modern  times,  the  writer  takes  us  to  where  we  may  see  the 
dangers  underlying  our  party  prejudice  and  political  madness.  No  book 
brought  out  since  the  publication  of  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  is,  in  my  mind, 
destined  to  create  such  a  sensation 

J.  W.  Powers. 


Dr.  W.  W.  Godding,  Superintendent  of  the  St.  Elizabeth 
Insane  Asyhim,  at  Washington,  who  attended  daily  the  noted 
trial  referred  to  in  this  book,  even  examined  the  so-called  assas- 
sin, by  official  request,  soon  after  the  shooting,  reporting  to  the 
Government  that  the  man  was  undoubtedly  insane,  and  should 
be  tried  by  a  lunacy  commission,  not  as  a  9nurderer !  now  says, 
by  letter  sent  the  Author  for  publication: 

St.  Elizabeth  Asylum,  Washington,  D.  C,  Oct.  14,  1888. 
Mrs.  Frances  Marie  Norton,  1200  Wabash  Ave. ,  Chicago,  III. 

Dear  Madam — We  may  admit  that  the  shooting  of  President  Garfield 
w^as  the  legitimate  outcome  of  the  "  Spoils  System  "  in  our  politics,  and  yet 
allow  that  his  assassin  was  insane.  Herein  we  may  find  the  lesson,  find 
also  the  only  consolation  for  that  martyrdom.  It  ought  to  make  the  very 
name  of  "  Spoils  System  "  odious  to  the  American  public,  while  for  us — we 
can  still  be  thankful  that  no  sane  man  has  yet  been  found  to  lift  his  hand 
against  the  President  of  the  Republic,  that  people-crowned  king.  That 
Guiteau  was  insane  is  hardly  seriously  questioned  now.  This  is  one  of  the 
instances  where  the  world  has  not  had  to  wait  for  the  verdict  of  history — 
contemporary  opinion  having  acquiesced  in  the  reversal  of  the  decision 
given  at  the  trial,  even  within  the  lifetime  of  those  whose  testimony  went  to 
the  making  of  that  verdict. 

Truly  yours,  W.  W.  Godding. 


Prof.  A.  A.  Woodbridge  of  Boston,  the  life-long  friend  of 
James  G.  Blaine,  writes  the  author  under  date  of  July  15,  1888: 

My  Dear  Madam — Your  book  is  one  I  would  like  to  see  published  and 
circulated.  You  know  there  are  some  historic  points  I  would  like  changed 
somewhat,  so  as  to  conform  more  closely  to  actual  history,  but  the  whole 
work,  as  a  historic  novel,  \s  full,  literally//^//,  of  situations  and  incidents 
that  go  to  make  a  thrilling  tale.  The  style  is  admirable.  Get  your  book 
on  the  presses  somewhere  at  once;  the  country  is  ready  for  it. 

With  distinguished  regard,  I  am,         Yours  sincerely, 

A.  A.  .Woodbridge. 

To  FrancesM.  Norton,  1200  Wabash  Ave.,  Chicago. 


THE  STALWARTS; 


OR, 


■    Who  Were  to   Blame. 


CHAPTER  I. 
myra's  trouble. 

A  clean  deal-table  of  polished  whiteness,  a  fair-faced  woman, 
neat  and  trim,  walking  briskly  to  and  fro  as  she  takes  from  the 
moulding-board,  where  she  has  rolled  them  out,  the  light,  sweet 
cakes,  and  deftly  drops  them  into  the  kettle  hanging  over  the 
bright  fire  built  of  solid  maple  sticks,  crossed  upon  the  gay 
brass  irons  standing  on  the  old-fashioned  hearthstone. 

No  odor  of  smoke  or  burning  fat  offending,  but  all  borne 
in  circling  wreaths  up  the  wide  chimney  to  the  air  outside,  sug- 
gesting only  beauty;  nothing  foul  or  unseemly  in  this  model 
kitchen  of  the  olden  time,  being  also  dining  and  sitting  room 
of  the  family,  comprised  of  husband,  wife  and  child,  loving  and 
loved. 

As  the  mother  works,  singing  a  soft  refrain,  the  child,  a  little 
girl,  sits  in  a  tiny  rocking-chair,  holding  her  kitten  and  much- 
loved  doll  J  the  kitten,  as  are  kittens  now,  a  purring  gray  and 
white  lump  of  warmth  and  comfort,  but  the  doll  grotesquely 
made  from  the  homely  corn-cob  supplying  bone  and  sinew, 
somewhat  of  shapeliness  added  by  strips  of  cloth  wound  round 
and  round,  and  with  rare  artistic  inspiration  the  semblance  of 
eyes,  nose,  lips  and  hair,  by  rude  markings  in  ink  or  paint — a 
veritable  rag-baby,  uncouth,  but  calling  forth. the  mother  in- 
stincts of  by-gone  years  as  do  the  life-like  imitations  provided 
for  the  delight  of  young  misses  to-day. 

Rocking  her  doll,  the  kitten  purring  its  quiet  song,  in  all  the 
world  could  not  be  found  content  more  perfect  than  by  that 
chair  encompassed.  It  was  an  old-thne  chair ^  too — no  superflu- 
ous curves  or  carvings,  no  cushioned  abomination  full  of  dust 
9 


10  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

and  moths,  but  a  clean,  hard-seated,  wooden  rocking-chair,  with 
hard,  straight  rounds  at  the  back  and  for  the  arms  and  feet — a 
chair  with  no  nonsense  about  it,  and  placed  upon  a  smooth,  bright 
floor;  no  dust  or  moths  there,  either,  for  all  in  this  old-fashioned 
home  is  neat  and  healthful,  and  Gertrude,  a  winsome  child,  its 
d  delisfht,  besfuilinof  the  time  with  wise  remarks  and  odd 


an 


joy 

sayings,  has  such  housewifely  ways,  the  neighbors  shake  their 
heads  and  say,  "You'll  not  keep  her  long."  How  little  know 
we  of  the  fateful  future! 

•  Our  story  commences  on  one  of  those  perfect  days  of  the 
later  spring  months,  when  this  old  world  seems  young,  and  new, 
and  pure;  when  Nature  outside,  as  well  as  the  matron  inside, 
has  finished  her  drenching  and  cleansing;  when  the  April  show- 
ers have  completed  their  mission,  and  all  is  fresh  and  sweet, 
awaiting  the  joyous  summer-time;  when  the  birds  have  built 
their  nests,  and  are  ready  for  love-making;  when  the  seed  for 
the  harvest  is  sown,  and  longs  for  the  ministry  of  the  life-giving 
sun;  when  the  roses  have  budded  and  are  bursting  into  bloom, 
and  in  Dame  Nature's  domain,  at  least,  all  is  purity,  happiness 
and  peace. 

The  young  mother,  preparing  for  a  morning  walk,  calls  to 
her  child:  "  Come,  Pet;  mamma's  going  to  see  auntie;  do  you 
want  to  go,  too?" 

"Yes,  mamma;  can  I  take  my  kitty?  She's  so  lonesome 
when  we're  gone." 

"Never  mind,  dearie;  leave  kitty  at  home.  You  can  bring 
your  doll;  she  will  keep  still." 

And  tripping  along  together,  hand  in  hand,  they  are  indeed 
a  happy  pair;  out  from  the  vine-covered  porch,  over  cool  stone 
walks  shaded  by  thrifty  maples,  past  flowering  shrubs — on  they 
go;  past  well-kept  beds  of  flowers  arranged  on  either  side, 
where  bloom  in  early  spring  the  crocus,  the  pure  lily  of  the 
valley,  the  gaudy  tulip  and  the  modest  violet;  not  the  audacious 
hot-house  j^ansy,  but  the  sweet-scented,  hardy,  faithful  violet — 
the  first  to  peep  from  beneath  winter  snows,  the  last  to  succumb 
to  his  cold  blasts — nature's  type  of  a  true  woman's  love.  And 
later,  where  were  found  the  bachelor  button,  coxcomb,  marygold, 
nasturnium,  hollyhock,  poppy,  the  (until  of  late)  despised  sun- 
flower, and  many  another  posey  esteemed  by  our  grandmothers, 
but  well-nigh  banished,  if  not  exterminated,  by  the  fastidious 
modern  gardener. 

In  the  old  days  these  carefully-tended  flower-beds  helped 
keep  women  young,  healthy,  contented,  and  happy.     Give  the 


WHO  WERE   TO  BLAME.  11 

average  woman  a  passably  good  husband,  a  child  or  two — ever 
so  humble  a  home,  with  the  surroundings  making  it  worthy  the 
name — and  she  will  not  go  far  astray. 

This  little  home  was  one  of  many  in  the  country  village 
containing  but  one  church  or  meeting-house,  one  academy, 
one  store  (where  might  be  found  everything  a  man,  woman  or 
child  ought  to  need,  from  a  leather  shoe-string  to  a  wash-tub), 
one  blacksmith  and  wagon  shop,  one  tavern,  clean  and  decent, 
for  the  accommodation  of  the  few  strangers  who  came  that 
way. 

No  competition,  no  strife  or  brawling  there — each  doing  for 
his  neighbor,  according  to  his  calling,  straightforward,  honest 
work  for  straightforward,  honest  pay. 

No  use  for  lawyers;  not  much  for  doctors,  except  in  the  or- 
dinary course  of  accessions  to  the  population,  or,  in  the  sure 
decay  of  extreme  old  age,  weak  humanity  needing  help  and 
comfort  now  and  then.  Seldom  a  case  of  real  disease,  rarely 
an  accident,  one  physician  doing  the  work  required  for  a  circuit 
of  thirty,  forty  or  even  fifty  miles,  and  that  often  until  over- 
taken by  the  allotted  threescore  years  and  ten. 

The  women,  dear  souls,  imagined  then,  as  now,  they  were 
sick  when  only  ailing — when  all  they  needed  was  a  cheering 
word  and  a  few  bread-pills — the  doctor  then,  as  now,  humoring 
their  notion,  spending  a  little  time,  not  unpleasantly,  feeling  the 
beating  of  the  life-giving  pulse  in  the  warm,  soft  wrist — listen- 
ing to  the  melodious  voice  revealing  its  tale  of  headache,  heart- 
ache, and  various  woe. 

The  hard-worked  country  doctor  of  those  days  was  not  un- 
like the  modern  city  article,  in  that  he  was  human,  and  would 
take  a  morsel  of  the  good  things  of  life  as  he  went  along,  some- 
times sending  the  bill  to  the  other  man. 

The  world  never  has  and  never  will  get  along  without  a  fair 
amount  of  humbugging.  Everybody  likes  it  now, as  when  Eve 
coaxed  Adam  into  eating  that  pesky  apple. 

However,  nothing  very  much  amiss  often  happens;  as  a  rule, 
men  and  women  go  in  a  respectable,  jog-trot  sort  of  way  to  the 
end  of  the  chapter.  Loved,  honored,  trusted  was  the  doctor; 
indispensable  while  human  folk  must  sicken  and  die;  faithfully 
ministering  to  the  disabled  bodies  until  death,  then,  at  the  last, 
side  by  side  with  those  who  sacredly  labor  for  the  sin-sick  souls 
of  men;  for  after  death  comes  Eternity,  for  weal  or  for  woe. 

What  space  shall  we  give — what  shall  be  said  of  the  sainted 
preacher  of  that  distant  day?     How  shall  we  recall  him   at  this 


12  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

hour?  Who  among  us  gifted  to  look  back  over  the  long  years, 
and,  with  vision  undimmed  by  all  that  is  compressed  betvs^een, 
see  standing  out,  beautiful,  grand  in  his  unselfish  devotion,  the 
minister  of  the  gospel  of  that  time?  Wants  so  simple,  heart  so 
loving,  taking  no  thought  w^hat  he  shall  eat  or  wherewithal  he 
shall  be  clothed,  but  seeking  to  preach  the  truth  as  handed  down 
to  him,  and  to  do  his  duty  as  he  understands.  No  thought  of 
looking  for  a  better  place  than  the  one  in  which  he  found 
himself,  as  people  now  say,  by  chance,  but  as  he  believed  where 
Providence  had  cast  his  lot — steadfastly,  patiently  continuing  in 
well-doing,  teaching  the  little  ones,  comforting,  admonishing  the 
youth  and  middle-aged  as  their  needs  required,  sm.oothing  the 
downward  path  of  the  old  and  infirm;  occasionally,  and  with 
sad  wonder  in  his  heart  that  in  such  a  path  his  duty  lay,  preach- 
ing a  morsel  of  that  hell  and  damnation  which  he  found  in  the 
dry  books  and  creeds  of  centuries-old  theology — theology  ven- 
erable enough  to  be  most  respectable,  ;2tj/ old  enough  to  draw  its 
inspiration  from  the  Fountain-Head  of  Truth,  from  Him  who 
was  in  the  beginnings  but  a  one-sided,  crooked,  warped,  human 
theology ;  not  the  perfect  Divine  theology  whose  beginning  and 
ending  is  love. 

This  sainted  man  dwelt  mostly  in  his  sermons  upon  the  lov- 
ing-kindness of  the  Lord;  His  mercy,  which  endureth  forever; 
His  watch  over  His  creatures,  caring  for  the  sparrow  when  it 
falleth,  teaching  that  the  hairs  of  our  heads  are  numbered.  As 
a  type  of  the  quiet,  stable,  unselfish  ministry  of  the  olden  time, 
he  has  passed  away.  The  sweetness  of  his  Christ-like  spirit  is 
in  the  heart  of  many  a  preacher  of  to-day,  but  they,  with  all 
the  rest  of  us,  are  in  the  seething  cauldron  of  investigation.  We 
seem  rushing  after  the  Truth  pell-mell,  as  though  fearing  she 
might  elude  our  grasp.  We  are  saying,  "  Lo!  here,  and  lo! 
there  isChiist;  believe  this  or  that  and  ye  shall  be  saved,  or  be- 
lieve nothing  at  all,  and  it  will  be  well." 

Yes,  the  good  old  quiet  times  are  for  the  present  gone  be- 
yond recall;  we  must  go  forward,  lest  we  perish  under  the 
wheel  of  progress. 

The  little  girl  of  our  story,  fortunately  or  otherwise,  came  into 
this  world  when  society,  having  been  for  a  long  time  quiesant, 
was  now  stirring  with  a  great  ferment,  and  westward, ho!  was  the 
cry  which  was  beginning  to  be  heard.  The  male  members  of  her 
family  had  already  caught  "the  fever,"  as  it  was  aptly  termed, 
and  with  the  grand  caravan  of  "  movers  "  it  was  ordained  that 
she  must  go;  traveling  along  we  may  watch  her  destiny. 


IVHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  13 

While  we  have  been  investigating  our  surroundings  and 
finding  the  manner  of  place  we  are  to  start  from,  making  the 
acquaintance  of  some  of  our  companions  perhaps,  our  little  girl 
and  her  mother  have  pursued  their  way  towards  the  home  of 
aunt  and  friend. 

What  can  be  more  lovely?  Almost  a  counterpart  of  the  one 
they  have  left;  the  beautiful  flower  garden  at  the  right,  the 
velvet  lawn  about  the  house,  the  old  trees,  the  climbing  vines 
and  roses. 

As  they  near  the  house,  comes  through  an  open  door  the 
song  of  a  cheerful  canary,  and,  mingled  with  its  notes,  the  low, 
sweet  crooning  of  a  young  mother's  lullaby. 

Peace,  happiness  are  within  and  around. 

"  Why,  good  morning,  Myra,  and  there's  little  Pet,  too. 
Come  in,  come  in,  Auntie's  glad  to  see  you  this  morning;  never 
mind  the  baby,  he's  not  asleep  yet,  and  1  think  does  not  intend 
taking  a  nap  just  now,  the  cunning  rogue.  No,  indeed,  he 
wants  to  see  his  aunt  Myra  and  little  cousin,  too!" 

At  this  Master  Robbie  straightened  backwards  full  length 
in  his  mother's  arms,  for  he  could  not  raise  himself  up  owing  to 
a  lack  of  vetebra  which  his  utmost  endeavor  and  youthful  am 
bition  had  not  yet  overcome,  and  was  forced  to  twist  his  fat 
neck  nearly  out  of  joint  in  the  frantic  attempt  to  get  a  good 
look  at  the  latest  arrivals. 

"  There,  now,  sit  up  sir,  don't  squirm  so!  You  shall  have  a 
nice  frolic."  And  Master  Robbie  was  safely  bolstered  up  on 
the  floor,  with  the  help  of  a  couple  of  pillows,  the  two  young- 
sters left  to  entertain  each  other,  while  the  mothers  engaged  in 
a  friendly   chat. 

"Well,  Myra,  how  is  everything  getting  on  at  the  Maples?" 

"Oh!  very  well,  but  I  came  over  to  have  a  talk  with  you 
about  something  which  worries  me  just  a  trifle." 

"  Why,  what  can  be  the  matter?  You  are  looking  sadly 
disheartened." 

"  Well,  the  fact  is  your  brother  Eben  is  getting  uneasy, 
wants  to  go  west,  and  I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  such  a  change; 
we  are  nicely  settled  here  and  are  so  happy." 

"  Can  it  be?     Why,  he  has  not  mentioned  this  to  us." 

"  No,  he  is  very  well  aware  neither  yourself  or  your  hus- 
band, with  his  cool  head  and  plodding  ways,  would  second  such 
a  venture;  but  he  and  father  talk  a  good  deal  together  at  home, 
how  much  easier  a  young  man  can  rise  in  the  world  by  locating 
in  a  new  country;  while  here  it  is  such  a  treadmill  life,  work- 


14  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

iii^  in  the  same  old  ruts.  I  believe  they  are  surely  making  up 
tlicir  minds  to  go,  and  I  am  more  distressed  than  they  can  ima- 
gine at  the  thought  of  leaving  our  dear  little  home  and  the 
church  and  all  our  kind  friends — and  you  " — now  the  lips  were 
trembling,  the  sweet  violet  eyes  full  to  overflowing  with   tears. 

Emily,  who  had  since  first  they  met,  been  a  true  sister  to  her 
brother's  wife,  took  Myra's  hand  in  hers,  comforting  her  as  best 
she  could.. 

"  Please,  dear,  don't  grieve  so,  altogether  likely  they  will 
evaporate  their  scheme  in  talk.  Your  father  ought  not  to  be 
easily  infatuated  at  his  time  of  life;  his  blood  should  be  cool. 
I'll  send  Edward  over  to  talk  them  out  of  the  notion  if  possible." 

"I  doubt  if  he  can,"  answered  Myra.  "  The  fact  is  father 
took  some  land  on  a  bad  debt  a  long  time  ago,  which  hereto- 
fore being  unproductive  property,  now  that  a  town  has  been 
laid  out  adjoining  it  he  wants  his  whole  family  to  emigrate,  that 
wild  brother  of  mine  included.  Eben  and  father  insist  there  is 
a  great  speculation  before  them  in  corner  lots  located  on  a 
bleak  western  prairie,  under  water  half  the  year,  out  in  Illinois; 
perhaps  there  is,  sometime  in  the  future,  for  our  grandchildren; 
but  Emily,  we'll  all  be  dead  long  before  it  amounts  to  anything. 

"  Father  hopes  by  getting  brother  John  away  from  his  bad 
associates  here  and  interested  in  business  to  reform  him,  and 
really  it  is  mainly  on  this  account  he  wishes  to  go;  but  I  have 
no  faith  in  a  good  result  while  his  coarse,  heartless  wife  treats 
him  as  she  does;  poor  John,  he  deserved  a  better  fate,  but  like 
many  another  man  he  fell  in  love  with  a  gay  face  and  married 
without  knowledge  of  the  character  of  his  inamorata.  I  dread 
that  even  they  should  go,  although  I  have  hoped  father  would 
return  after  he  had  seen  John  comfortably  settled.  But  why 
can't  they  let  Eben  and  I  alone  and  dear  sister  Lucille?  A 
dreary  life  surely  must  a  young  girl  lead  there.  If  we  remain 
here  I'll  keep  Lucille  with  me.  My  brother's  wife  can  attend 
to  the  comfort  of  John  and  father.  From  what  I  hear  and 
have  seen  (which  is  very  little  as  they  live  in  Stubenville),  it 
will  be  no  hardship  for  her  to  go — she  was  born  and  raised  in 
the  west  and  would  enjoy  a  rough  life." 

"  But,  Emily,  I  am  tiring  you  with  my  complaints,  and  be- 
sides must  be  getting  home." 

"Oh,  no  you  are  not,  dear!  I  am  sorry  you  must  go,  and 
sorry  for  your  trouble,  but  do  not  despair.  Let  us  hope  better 
counsels  will  prevail.  If  they  would  give  your  wise  little  head 
its  due  prominence  all  might  yet  be  well;  but  we  women  must 


IVHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  15 

brew  and  bake,  and  boil  and  scrub,  and  make  and  mend,  while 
our  lords  contrive  how  to  accumulate  a  great  deal  of  money  in 
the  easiest  possible  way,  as  they  think,  and  then  forthwith  plan 
how  to  spend  it  again." 

"  Well,  good  bye,  Emily.  My  visit  has  helped  if  only  in 
giving  vent  to  pent-up  feelings.  Eben  will  be  home  soon,  and 
I  ?nust  be  going.     Come  Pet." 

And  when  Gertrude  had  given  Robbie  a  final  hug,  nearly 
squeezing  the  breath  out  of  his  round,  fat  body,  auntie  a  fare- 
well kiss,  they  started  on  their  homeward  way,  but  the  shadow 
did  not  leave  Myra's  thoughtful  face;  even  the  prattle  of  the 
child  failed  to  cheer  her,  for  the  longer  her  mind  dwelt  upon 
the  proposed  change,  the  more  she  felt  opposed  to  it. 

As  they  walked  towards  home  a  glimpse  of  the  village 
grave-yard  came  in  view,  and  a  pang  shot  through  her  heart  as 
she  remembered  two  mounds,  one  very,  very  small,  but  they 
had  been  her  special  care;  in  the  far  west  she  should  never  see 
them  more — and  she  dropped  a  tear  as  you  or  I  might  have 
done — for  her  heart  was  sad  and  sore. 

Soon  Myra  reached  her  home,  and  quickly  laying  aside 
bonnet  and  shawl,  proceeded  to  prepare  the  mid-day  meal  as 
best  would  please  her  husband. 

Her  wonted  cheerfulness  returned  as  she  worked,  and  by 
the  time  he  appeared  the  trouble  at  her  heart  could  not  be  seen 
upon  her  face. 

The  little  girl  descried  him  and  ran  out  to  meet  "Papa;" 
prattling  along,  her  hand  in  his,  they  came  up  the  walk  to- 
gether. 

"  We's  been  to  see  auntie  and  'ittle  Robbie,  we  has." 
"  Have  you,  Puss?     Well,  what  did  auntie  say?  " 

"Auntie  glad  to  see  we,  but  mamma  cry.  Auntie  say  don't 
cry,  dear,  you  shan't  go  away.     Edward  say  so." 

The  open  face  clouded  in  an  instant,  a  hard  look  came  into  it. 

Although  Eben  really  wished  his  sister  and  her  sensible  hus- 
band to  know  that  he  intended  going  west,  he  did  not  care  to 
have  them  see  how  his  wife  felt  about  it;  still,  now  that  they 
knew  he  was  relieved,  even  though  they  did  disapprove.  Now 
he  would  not  have  to  tell  them,  as  he  had  purposed  that  very 
evening;  really  he  was  quite  well  pleased  as  he  considered  what 
the  little  one  had  unwittingly  told  him.  Just  then  Myra  came 
to  the  open  door;  the  frown  was  gone  in  an  instant,  his  arm 
around  her,  for  Myra  in  her  best  moods  was  a  bright,  sweet, 
utterly  irrisistable  woman. 


16  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

Gathered  around  the  table  in  the  neat  kitchen — sitting  and 
dining-room  as  well — before  the  open  door  of  this  wee  home 
nest,  shaded  by  grand  old  maples — containing  besides  this  liv- 
ing room  a  pleasant  parlor  and  one  cosy  sleeping-room,  they 
were  a  happy  family,  a  pretty  picture. 

Our  little  lady,  as  you  have  seen,  did  her  housework  with 
the  help  of  a  day  now  and  then  from  old  Betsy.  In  time  of 
sickness  sister  Lucille  and  aunt  Emily  were  within  easy  call. 
"  What  more  of  comfort  or  worldly  good  could  mortal  wish," 
thought  Myra. 

Not  so.  Eben — he  had  visions  of  stately  halls,  grand  equip- 
ages, servants  at  his  beck  and  call,  all  the  et-cetera  going  to 
make  the  daily  life  of  a  wealthy  metropolitan  merchant. 

He  had  no  intention  of  spending  all  his  life  a  store-keeper 
in  a  country  village!  Not  he — nothing  was  too  good  for  him — 
going  west  was  but  a  stepping-stone  to  fortune.  Thus  had 
Eben  planned.  Shunning  consultation  with  his  wife,  or  with 
his  sister  and  her  careful  husband,  for  he  well  knew  they 
would  weigh  all  the  pros  and  cons  before  giving  their  consent, 
he  had  long  before  determined  to  go  west  whoever  opposed. 

He  had  not  directly  mentioned  the  subject  to  his  wife,  much 
less  consulted  her;  he  had  fully  trouble  enough  convincing 
Grandpa  Gascoigne  without  bothering  with  the  women  folks, 
and  besides,  such  was  not  the  common  practice  of  those  times. 
Occasionally  a  man  would  travel  out  of  the  ordinary  line  and 
habitually  confer  with  his  w-ife  about  business  matters,  and  she 
become  the  envy  of  all  her  acquaintances.  As  a  rule  husbands 
and  fathers  laid  their  plans,  carrying  them  out  without  question 
from  wives  and  mothers;  women  of  stolid  nature  quietly  ac- 
quiesced and  it  did  them  no  harm;  but  women  of  finer  grain, 
more  intensity  of  love,  capable  of  deeper  hurts,  lost  heart  un- 
der such  treatment,  grew  into  saddened  lives,  quietly  grieving, 
unknown  strangers  in  their  own  homes  to  those  nearest  and 
dearest. 

This  husband  and  wife,  loving  truly,  but  letting  estrange- 
ment creep  between,  each  thinking  their  seperate  thoughts, 
except  for  the  little  girl  would  have  eaten  the  meal  in  silence. 
Neither  could  speak  without  effort  on  any  but  the  subject  upper- 
most in  the  mind,  and  that  Eben  carefully  avoided. 

At  last,  rising  from  the  table,  turning  to  Myra,  he  said: 
"  My  dear,  your  father,  brother  John  and  myself  have  made 
arrangements  to  join  the  party  going  west  one  month  from  to- 
day.   We  start  on  the  first  day  of  July,  and  if  we  have  good  luck 


IVHO   WERE   TO  BLAME.  17 

shall  reach  our  destination  by  the  middle  of  August,  certainly 
by  the  first  of  September,  depending  upon  how  long  we  re- 
main in  Chicago  and  the  condition  of  the  roads  beyond  there. 
Freelawn,  where  we  shall  locate,  is  about  a  hundred  miles 
further  on,  and  sometimes  the  roads,  when  there  is  much  rain, 
are  very  bad.  You  and  your  sister  Lucille  will  have  a  great 
deal  of  work  getting  ready  for  the  long  journey.  John's  wife 
is  delighted  at  the  idea  of  going;  they  are  coming  over  to  join 
the  party  here.     Good  bye,  I  must  be  off  for  the  store." 

Imprinting  a  kiss  on  her  now  ice-cold  brow  he  hastened 
away. 

And  she,  when  he  had  left  her,  seemed  like  one  upon  whom 
a  heavy  stone  has  fallen,  or  who  has  been  shot,  pierced  to  the 
heart,  only  she  did  not  cry  out,  or  fall,  or  die;  but  sat  silently, 
motionless,  all  joyous  life  and  animation  gone,  with  hands  folded 
listlessly  in  her  lap,  looking  sad-eyed  through  the  open  door, 
away  into  the  graveyard,  beyond  the  church  near  by,  where 
lay  sleeping  beside  the  mother,  long  gone,  her  own  little  one,  his 
tiny  mound  close  wrapped  in  its  netted  covering  of  dark-leaved, 
azure-eyed  myrtle  and  sweet-scented  violets,  planted  by  her 
hand,  nourished  by  her  tears,  every  twining  tendril,  each  bright 
blossom  an  outgrowth  and  symbol  of  maternal  love. 

And  thus  sitting,  musing  of  the  happy  past,  deploring  the 
grievous  present,  trying  to  reach  out  into  the  future  for  needed 
hope  and  comfort,  until  the  waning  light  and  little  Gertrude's 
'*  Mamma,  I'se  tired,  I  want  to  go  bed,"  roused  her;  then  she 
rocked  the  child  in  tender  arms  to  rest,  and  in  the  evening  lull- 
aby her  crushed  and  wounded  love  wailed  forth  its  dying  re- 
quiem. 

Bodily,  Myra  lived  long  years  after,  but  the  loving  heart  life 
which  had  permeated  her  whole  being  was  departed,  and  to  the 
end  she  remained  the  same  as  on  this  fateful  day,  quietly  mourn- 
ing, covering  from  sight  the  bleeding  hurt,  cherishing  sacredly 
memories  of  glad  hours  forever  gone. 

Such  episodes  oft  repeated,  killing-  love,,  culminate  now-a- 
days  in  divorce — that  monster  of  the  19th  century — an  evil 
which  cannot  be  strangled  by  stringent  laws,  seeking  to  rivet 
the  chains  binding  the  outward  lives  of  those  whose  every 
thought  and  impulse  is  antagonistic.  We  contend  for  marriage  as 
against  divorce,  but  for  an  inseparable  marriage  of  soul  as  well 
as  body ;  the  nature  of  men  and  women  being  to  attach  them- 
selves permanently  when  congenial  attributes  arouse  love.  But 
the  surety  of  possession  which  is  now  a  part  of  the  marriage 


18  THE  STALiVARTS;   OR, 

bond  makes  all  the  difference  between  courtship  and  marriage, 
when  only  love  doth  bind.  Each  must  carefully  cultivate  and 
cherish  love  and  respect  lest  they  die  and  the  bond  be  broken. 

In  those  days,  when  divorce  was  considered  a  disgrace  which 
no  excuse  or  atonement  could  extenuate,  sensitive  women  who 
felt  themselves  governed  by  a  master's  will,  not  cherished  by  a 
husband's  love,  would  sometimes  sink  dispirited  under  the  load 
every  wife  and  mother  must  assume  unless  she  shirks  her  duty; 
and  men,  finding  themselves  encumbered  by  a  thankless,  unap- 
preciative  wife  instead  of  encouraged  by  a  helpful  companion, 
would  sometimes  desert  wife,  home  and  children,  fleeing  to 
distant  lands. 

Even  now,  when  lagal  separation  is  easier  of  attainment, 
the  opprobium  less  severe  perhaps,  the  rupture  and  dismember- 
ment of  family  life  is  felt  to  be  so  terrible  an  alternative  by  all 
right-thinking  people,  none  but  the  coarse  natures  will  hastily 
resort  to  such  an  expedient,  those  of  finer  grain  preferring 
years  of  unhappiness,  oftimes  physical  torture,  to  opening 
noisome  closets,  exposing  ghastly  skeletons  for  the  inspection  of 
the  public;  continuing  after  the  love  and  respect  constituting 
true  marriage  has  departed — inwardly  though  completely  di- 
vorced as  by  the  decree  of  a  court  of  justice — yet  patiently  en- 
during for  long  years,  living  in  spirit  separate  and  independent 
lives.  Some,  goaded  to  desperation,  rise  up  and  shake  off  their 
shackles,  break  the  hateful  bond  asunder. 

But  is  this  the  better  way?  Why  cannot  men  and  women 
so  live  that  wives  may  yield  to  their  husbands  not  a  stolid 
obedience,  a  slavish  help,  but  hearty,  willing  assistance  in  every 
emergency;  a  loyal  allegiance,  akin  to  hero  worship,  for  the 
womanly  soul  her  chief  delight,  and  women  win  from  their 
husbands  honest  admiration,  deepest  love,  instead  of  the  shallow 
affection  given  in  return  for  ofttimes  shallow,  heartless  lives? 

Not  that  her  husband  had  been  inconsiderate,  severe,  arbi- 
trary, different  from  his  wont;  not  that  they  were  to  go  far 
away  and  must  leave  much  which  could  not  be  replaced,  many 
things  very  dear  from  long  association,  or  that  she  perhaps  dis- 
approved of  the  change  for  financial  reasons;  but  that  he  could 
be  altogether  careless  of  her  wishes  in  so  important  a  matter, 
affecting  all  their  home  and  business  interests,  making  a  final 
decision  without  mentioning  the  subject  to  her  directly,  or  by 
the  least  effort  endeavoring  to  have  her  see  it  in  the  same  light 
as  he  did.  This  was  partly  what  had  shocked  and  grieved 
every  atom  of  her  sensitive  nature.     But,  as  Myra  pondered, 


IV/W   WERE   TO  BLAME.  19 

certain  recent  incidents,  scarcely  noticeable  when  they  occurred, 
now  assumed  new  meaning  and  importance,  and  she  became 
sure  that  her  husband  had  suddenly  and  irrevocably  decided 
upon  the  removal  because  of  a  hidden  purpose  more  easily  to 
be  achieved  with  the  opportunities  offered  by  the  peculiar 
manner  in  which  the  journey  must  be  accomplished.  Could 
she  have  been  convinced  that  his  own  business  prosperity  and 
the  welfare  of  his  family  were  the  sole  objects  in  view;  had 
Eben,  this  old-time  husband,  instead  of  pursuing  a  dictatorial 
course,  been  even  as  considerate  as  is  usual  among  men  of  or- 
dinary enlightenment  now-a-days,  Myra  would  have  assented 
cheerfully,  had  he  insisted,  though  her  judgment  were  averse  to 
the  project,  for  she  was  by  no  means  an  unreasonable,  stubborn 
woman. 

But  that  her  husband  should  entirely  ignore  her  preference, 
should  regard  his  wnfe  and  chUd  as  chattels  to  be  moved  at 
his  convenience  or  pleasure,  was  more  than  she  could  compre- 
hend. 

Surely  some  radical  change  must  have  taken  place  in  him, 
for  the  tenderness  which  since  first  they  met  had  been  con- 
stantly present  towards  her  was  certainly  wanting  of  late,  and 
in  this  instance  had  been  substituted  by  actual  unkindness  and 
heartlessness.  The  absolute  knowledge  of  her  husband's  in- 
difference coming  suddenly  upon  her  had  agonized  every  fiber 
of  this  affectionate  woman's  heart  beyond  repair.  Oh!  those 
telltale  words — "John's  wife!" 

Deluded  man!  that  he  had  at  once  dispelled  from  his  mind 
a  silly  infatuation  for  one  he  really  cared  not  a  whit  about — a 
woman  immeasurably  inferior  to  his  own  wife — and  giving  his 
whole  attention  to  the  gentle  companion  who  loved  him  so 
dearly,  regarding  her  as  friend  and  comrade,  consulting  with 
her  as  he  would  have  done  with  a  partner  in  business,  more 
necessary  when  for  life — thus  must  these  two  have  been  drawn 
inseparably  together. 

The  real  obstacle  to  such  conference  was  the  headstrong 
nature  of  the  man,  unused  to  asking  advice  of  any  one,  much 
less  a  wife;  a  man  perfectly  sure  he  knew  what  was  best, 
under  any  and  all  circumstances,  and  with  a  determination  of 
purpose  when  his  passions  were  aroused  to  carry  out  his  plans, 
have  his  own  way,  though  the  Juggernaut  car  of  his  will  should 
crush  the  life  out  from  the  hearts  of  those  who  loved  him,  or 
eventually  w^reck  his  own  happiness. 

Because  of  this  strength  of  character  the  man  was  capable 


20  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

of  loving  with  an  impassioned  tenderness,  commanding  the 
deepest,  truest  love  in  return.  A  man  w^ho  had  but  to  let  his 
own  heart  go  out  and  the  object  of  his  desires  must  of  her  own 
accord  come  to  him. 

Such  a  man.  a  wife  will  worship,  clinging  to  him  alone 
through  good  and  through  evil  report  alike,  even  after  repeated 
unkindness;  and  alas!  oft  times  a  woman,  loving  though  erring, 
drawn  irresistably  to  his  fond  embrace,  exhibits  not  one  atom 
less  of  devotion. 

Eben  Grieveau  was  a  handsome,  manly  fellow,  and  Myra, 
his  wife,  had  deemed  herself  a  queen  among  women  during  the 
three  years  of  their  wedded  life,  each  day  binding  her  closer  in 
allegiance  to  her  king;  especially  through  this  beautiful  spring 
time  as  she  had  watched  him  coming  up  the  walk  leading  to 
their  cottage  home,  with  free,  springing  step  and  bright,  genial 
smile,  her  love  had  increased  to  adoration  until  she  felt  her 
chief  joy  must  ever  consist  in  following  him  to  the  ends  of  the 
earth  did  he  but  say  the  talismanic  words,  "  Come,  my  darling, 
come! "  And  he,  as  the  sweet  wife  came  tripping  to  meet  him 
day  by  day,  her  soft  arms  at  last  about  his  neck,  the  dainty 
mouth  upturned  to  his,  had  thought,  "  Was  there  ever  such  an- 
other little  woman?  " 

But  now,  very  lately^  a  wily  siren  had  discovered  this  fruit- 
ful Eden,  and  her  own  garden  being  barren  had  wickedly 
coveted  her  neighbor's  apples,  with  the  result  apt  to  follow 
when  a  man  of  warm  temperament  and  strong  nature  Is  encoun- 
tered by  a  coarse,  passionate  woman  full  of  the  fire  of  youth, 
strength  and  health,  but  lacking  in  the  refinement  of  principle, 
the  sense  of  justice  and  right  living  which  should  pre-eminently 
distinguish  woman,  causing  that  she  prefer  any  torture  rather 
than  reach  out  after  or  accept  that  which  belongs  to  another, 
rather  than  estrange  the  affection  which  everv  wife  has  the 
right  to  expect  from  her  husband. 

But  this  woman,  thoughtless,  robust,  with  a  certain  animate 
beauty — striving  her  utmost  to  crowd  between  these  two — 
had  little  delicacy  of  feeling  or  just  principle,  and  the  fateful 
wrong  progressed  unhindered  to  the  end. 

Now  where  had  been  joy  and  peace,  discord  and  sorrow- 
have  entered.  Eben,  nearing  his  home  at  the  close  of  this 
pleasant  summer  day  so  long  ago,  no  one  comes  to  meet  him  as 
of  yore,  no  one  is  stirring  within,  but  such  sad,  unearthly  music 
strikes  upon  his  ear  as  he  has  never  heard  before;  anon  the 
notes  rise  wild  and  free  as  though  the  soul  of  the  singer  would 


IVHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  31 

burst  its  bonds  and  soar  away  to  the  very  skies,  and  sinking 
lower — with  an  unutterable  sadness — yet  lower,  until  it  seems 
the  breath  must  surely  be  stilled  in  death. 

Eben  comes  nearer,  hoping  to  distinguish  the  words,  it  is  only 
a  lullaby,  and  greater  wonder,  the  songstress  is  his  wife!  He 
knew  she  could  sing  indifferently  well,  but  such  music!  What 
can  it  mean?  And  she  sitting  alone  with  only  little  Gertrude 
for  company ! 

Hark!  His  step  has  roused  her,  she  hears  him  coming,  in- 
stantly is  the  wierd  melody  hushed,  nevermore  to  be  resumed. 
She  lays  the  child  quickly  upon  its  bed,  and  with  bewildered, 
dazed  manner  goes  about  her  neglected  household  work. 

Eben  waits  a  little,  thoroughly  alarmed  by  her  strange  con- 
duct; he  watches  her  movements,  but  she  proceeds  methodically 
as  is  her  custom. 

There  is  a  very  tired  look,  a  hopeless  expression  in  her  face, 
otherwise  she  is  the  same  as  usual. 

He  enters — Myra  meets  him  almost-m  the  old  accustomed 
way — a  shadow  there  is  possibly  of  indifference  and  coldness  in 
her  tone  as  she  mentions  that  "  little  Gerty  was  tired,  and  after 
rocking  her  to  sleep  she  forgot  herself." 

He  answers  nothing,  but  wonders  at  the  strange  manner 
women  have  of  showing  it  when  they  are  grieved;  for  he  very 
well  knows  that  the  heart  of  his  wife  is  profoundly  chilled, 
and  wherefore,  but  he  does  not  at  all  comprehend  the  extent  of 
the  defection  or  the  depth  of  the  pool  of  anguish  which  has  been 
stirred. 

Though  he  did, would  he  relent?  Likely  not.  He'd  think, 
"  Women  are  so  queer,  but  she'll  get  over  it,  they  always  do." 

And  thus  men  reason  to  this  day,  the  best  of  them;  men 
who  would  not  hurt  a  fly,  much  less  a  woman,  physically,  see 
those  they  love  sorrowful,  growing  cold  towards  them  day  by 
day,  because  of  their  own  thoughtlessness  or  downright  un- 
kindness,  and  yet  they  do  not  mind  or  trouble  in  the  least  about 
so  trivial  an  affair  as  a  woman's  preferences  and  notions,  much 
less  over  her  jealous  whims,  as  they  are  pleased  to  say. 

As  for  Eben  and  his  wife,  from  that  day  when  the  abrupt 
announcement  of  his  intentions  had  been  made  to  her,  they 
traveled  their  separate  roads;  he  attended  to  his  business  in  his 
own  w^ay,  with  no  effort  to  know  aught  on  her  part  beyond  her 
special  domain,  the  household  work  and  the  care  of  her  children. 

Each  labored  faithfully  in  the  sphere  marked  out,  though 
contracted  and  circumscribed  through  lack  of  concerted  feeling^ 


22  THE  STALWARTS;  OR 

with  such  results  to  themselves,  their  children  and  their  home 
life,  as  might  have  been  expected,  the  misfortune  not  lessened 
by  the  fact  of  one  party  reserving  the  right  to  selfish  action  or 
arbitrary  interference  upon  any  occasion  at  his  option. 

Notwithstanding  the  heartache  and  the  sadness,  prepara- 
tions w^ere  made  for  the  long  journey,  and  the  family  started 
according  to  the  original  plan.  Eben  Grieveau,  Myra,  his 
wife,  and  the  child  Gertrude;  Myra's  father,  Dr.  Gascoigne; 
her  sister  Lucille,  brother  John  and  his  wife,  Julia;  besides  aunt 
Debby  Jones  and  the  good  deacon,  her  husband,  also  several 
others  not  connected  with  our  story. 

In  the  course  of  this  narrative  the  reader  can  judge  whether 
the  removal  was  in  the  interest  of  wisdom  or  of  cruel  destinv. 


WHO   WERE   TO  BLAME, 


CHAPTER  II. 

PREPARATION     FOR     THK    jOLRXEV. 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Grieveau,  you  don't  say  you  are  really  going 
away  out  west?  " 

"  Ves,  that  is  what  my  father  and  hushand  have  decided 
upon." 

"  But  how  do  you  like  the  idea,  you  and  your  sister  Lucille  r " 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,  Mrs.  Sykes,  we  have  no  choice  i-i 
the  matter;  father  and  Mr.  Grieveau  have  made  up  their  minds 
to  go,  and  as  nothing  we  could  say  would  influence  them  in  the 
slightest,  we  think  the  wisest  course  will  be  to  keep  still." 

"Keep  still !  You  don't  seem  to  be  following  your  own  coun- 
sels if  what  I  have  seen  since  coming  here  is  a  sample  of  the 
work  you  do." 

"No,"  replied  Myra;  "in  all  these  changes,  though  we 
women  have  no  voice  in  planning  the  main  event,  the  detail 
comes  upon  us  just  the  same  whether  the  heart  be  sad  or  gay, 
be  the  circumstances  pleasant  or  otherwise — isn't  that  as  you 
find  it?" 

"  Oh!  yes,  woman's  lot,  I  suppose.  Life  is  pretty  much  the 
same  wherever  we  go  I  sometimes  undertake  to  have  my  wav, 
but  yield  sooner  of  later  for  the  sake  of  peace.  I  never  quarrel 
with  my  husband.  If  there  is  anything  I  detest  it  is  wrangling. 
But  it  is  just  too  bad  that  we  must  lose  you.  We  shall  miss  you 
all  so  much  in  every  way.  I  shall  never  forget  your  kindness 
when  I  had  that  poor  spell  last  winter.  I  shall  think  of  it  every 
time  I  go  by  this  dear  little  house.  Who's  to  have  it?  Has  it 
been  sold  yet?  " 

"  No,  but  my  brother  Edward  will  attend  to  the  sale. 
Please  don't  speak  of  it,  my  heart  is  fairly  broken  at  the 
thought  of  leaving  all  that  is  so  pleasant  here."  And  Myra 
could  no  longer  control  her  choking  sobs. 

"  My  dear  little  friend,  do  not  worry  so.  Cheer  up,  cheer 
up.  You  must  try  and  look  on  the  bright  side.  You'll  like  it 
out  there  better  than  you  think.  I  know  ever  so  many  who 
are  going  in  the  fall  or  next  spring;  you'll  have  us  all  out  there 
before  long.  Old  Barrytown'll  be  empty.  The  men  are  wild 
now  about  that  new  place  o\  er  across  the  big  lake — Chick-ca- 


24  THE  STALWARTS;   OK, 

o-o  or  She-ka-gv,  or  some  such  a  name  they  call  it,  some  out- 
landish Indian  name.  They  say  it  is  a  miserable  poor  location 
as  ever  was,  set  down  in  the  mud  on  a  level  with  the  lake,  so 
that  when  the  storms  come  and  the  waves  are  high,  the  water 
sets  back  into  the  dirty  river  and  there  is  danger  that  the  whole 
town  will  flviat  off  away  out  on  the  big  prairie  beyond.  I  am 
glad  you  are  not  going  to  stay  there." 

"  Yes,  so  am  I.  Why,  I've  heard  that  in  the  spring  when 
the  freshet — as  they  call  the  early  thaw — floods  the  land,  people 
actually  go  about  in  boats  on  the  main  street,  there  is  but  one, 
well-named.  Lake  street,  and  for  weeks  after  the  water  sub- 
sides, you'll  find  poles  set  up  to  show  where  the  bottom  has 
fallen  out  from  one  of  those  deep  black  mud-holes,  the  street 
being  well  nigh  impassable." 

"I  declare,  Mrs.  Grieveau,  you  don't  say.  It  is  a  mystery, 
sure  enough,  how  any  one  happened  to  think  of  building  a 
town  there.  I'^'e  heard  the  Indians  first  started  it  as  a  trading 
port,  and  then  the  government  had  to  build  a  fort — Fort  Dear- 
born, I  believe  —  and  station  soldiers  to  keep  the  Indians 
straight^  and  so  the  place  commenced,  and  now  it  is  growing, 
and  growing  like  a  great  coarse  swamp-weed^  rank  and  nasty, 
but  so  strong  and  vigorous  nothing  can  kill  it  out,  and  there's 
no  end  of  the  stories  they  tell  of  the  money  to  be  made  invest- 
ing in  corner  lots  under  water  half  the  year.  That  is  the  kind 
of  place  it  is." 

"Yes,"  said  Myra,  "we  go  through  there,  and  only  think, 
a  hundred  miles  beyond,  over  prairies,  through  sloughs,  zvherc 
horses  go  dozvn^  sometimes,  shik  e?ztirely  out  of  sight^  and  are 
never  rescued.  Oh!  dear,  oh!  dear,  why  can't  men  let  well 
enough  alone?  And  then  the  people  are  sick  half  the  time  or 
more  with  a  fearful  disease  in  which  they  get  freezing  cold  and 
you  can't  warm  them  with  anything  applied  externally  or  in- 
ternally; they  shake  and  shake  with  the  cold,  they  turn  blue 
and  their  teeth  chatter  and  rattle,  until  you'd  think  every  tooth 
would  fall  out,  and  they  are  in  such  misery  they  want  to  die 
but  can't. 

"  After  hours  of  dreadful  suffering  the  fever  comes  on,  the 
patients  are  just  burning  up,  and  you  can't  cool  them  with  any 
thing.  They  often  remain  delirious  for  hours,  until  at  last, 
when  the  climax  is  reached,  and  the  time  has  come  for  the 
change,  all  quiets  down,  the  fever  abates,  sleep  restores  the  ex- 
hausted victim,  and  for  a  short  period  of  a  day  or  more  there  is 
comparative  comfort,  and  then  another  attack. 


IVHO  WERE   TO  BLAME.  25 

"  The  most  aggravating  thing  about  the  disease  is  that  it  does 
not  often  kill,  and  because  of  this  unfortunate  circumstance, 
people  make  sport  of  each  other  and  try  to  laugh  it  off,  calling 
the  terrible  affliction  '  having  the  shakes,'  but  I'm  told  it  is  a 
serious  matter  when  the  fit  is  on,  and  almost  every  person  going 
to  new  countries  when  the  virgin  soil  is  being  broken  up  for 
cultivation  is  sure  to  suffer  from  this  disease.  The  children  and 
even  the  dear  little  babies  have  it  too." 

"  You  don't  sav,  Mrs.  Grieveau ;  well  I  never  heard  the  likes 
of  that." 

"  But,  Mrs.  Sykes,"  said  Myra,  "  it  is  of  no  use  spendmg 
time  in  repining,  for  we  are  to  go,  and  sister  Lucille  and  I  have 
decided  to  make  the  best  of  what  we  cannot  prevent.  Perhaps, 
at  any  rate  we  hope,  if  father  and  Mr.  Grieveau  do  not  succeed 
there  as  they  expect,  we  shall  return  after  a  while.  Eben  says 
he  intends  coming  back  wdien  he  has  made  his  fortune,  and  will 
spend  the  remainder  of  his  life  among  his  friends  here." 

''  Well,  that'll  be  nice,  I'm  sure." 

"  Yes,  but  now  we  must  make  ready  and  go  as  they  wish, 
without  commenting  or  parleying;  it  is  the  only  way  of  get- 
ting along  peaceably  with  men." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so,  Mrs.  Grieveau.  You  are  right;  so 
sensible  and  good.  Just  like  your  mother.  I  remember  her 
looks  very  well,  though  she  died  soon  after  coming  here  from 
Vermont.  Marrying  as  you  did,  in  a  short  time,  and  taking- 
her  place  in  the  household,  you  seem  always  to  me  herself 
over  again.  She  was  a  dear,  good  woman,  we  all  loved  her  the 
little  space  she  remained  with  us,  and  you  are  more  her  counter- 
part than  even  your  sister  Lucille." 

"  Please  don't,  Mrs.  Sykes,"  said  Myra,  quietly  wiping  her 
eyes.  "  Pm  not  ver}'  strong  lately,  and  cannot  endure  any 
more  heart-breaking  thoughts  to-day.  Lucille  and  I  are  to  be 
very  busy  and  must  save  all  our  strength,  for  there  are  no  end 
of  things  to  be  done  in  preparing  for  the  journey  and  for  use 
after  we  arrive  in  Freelawn.  They  tell  us  no  kind  of  fruits 
or  luxuries  to  which  we  have  been  accustomed  can  be  procured 
there  at  any  price,  and  we  intend  carrying  all  the  dried  fruit  we 
can  secure  and  other  choice  articles  for  our  comfort  during  the 
first  winter.  After  that  is  over,  we  shall  start  a  garden 
and  an  orchard,  and  in  time  hope  to  have  these  and  many  of  the 
pleasant  surroundings  which  have  made  our  home  here  so  en- 
joyable." 

"  Yes,  though  at  first  no  doubt  you  will  miss  many  things  you 


26  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

have  been  used  to,  and  your  lot  will  seem  very  hard ;  but  you 
must  keep  up  courage.  This  trouble  may  all  be  for  some  good 
end  beyond  our  present  comprehension." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  answered  Myra  despondently,  with  that  far- 
away look  in  her  eyes,  for  the  shadow  of  doom  was  upon  her; 
*'  or  to  consummate  some  evil.  I  have  had  from  the  first  men- 
tion of  the  intended  change  a  premonition  of  such  result,  but  do 
not  allow  my  mind  to  dwell  upon  this  view;  for  we  shall  have 
enough  perplexities  to  engage  our  attention  and  activities  in  the 
present,  without  drawing  upon  the  imagination  for  the  troubles 
of  the  futu>"e.  Why,  do  you  know,  Mrs.  Sykes,  we  are  not  at 
all  sure  of  even  a  house  to  live  in  upon  our  arrival,  and  father 
and  Mr.  Grreveau  are  starting  thus  early  in  the  summer  that 
they  may  build  comfortable  quarters  for  occupancy  before  the 
the  winter  comes  upon  us  if  they  find  it  necessary.  We  may 
be  obliged  to  camp  during  the  whole  month  of  September, 
sleeping  in  our  wagons,  as  we  must  while  journeying.  Lucille 
and  I  have  already  commenced  making  strong,  coarse  garments 
for  father,  Eben,  little  Gertrude  and  ourselves,  which  will  bear 
the  wear  and  tear  of  the  rough  traveling.  You  w^ould  never 
recognize  us  in  our  queer  costumes.  Come,  I'll  show  you  our 
sun-bonnets — 'prairie  schooners' — they  are  called." 

And  the  dainty  woman  arrayed  herself  in  an  ungainly 
thing  made  of  brown  gingham,  cords  and  pasteboards,  turning 
about  for  her  friend's  inspection.  But  the  lovely  eyes,  of  dark- 
est, velvetly,  purpleish  blue,  peeping  timidly  out  from  under 
curtaining  lids,  as  does  the  modest  violet  from  its  hidden  retreat, 
the  dimpled  mouth  and  chin,  the  smooth,  fair  brow,  the  rippling 
golden  brown  hair,  of  sweet  Myra  Greiveau  could  not  be  con- 
cealed or  even  disfigured  by  this  outlandish  toilet. 

A  hearty  laugh  they  had  at  her  expense,  and  then  the  kind 
friend,  throwing  her  arms  about  her  impulsively,  kissing  htr 
gleefully,  declared  she'd  "  know  that  face  anywhere,  inside  ar.y 
sort  of  headgear  that  could  be  contrived.  But  it's  growing 
late,  must  be  near  about  noon;  so  good  bye  for  to-day.  My 
husband  will  be  home  soon,  tired  and  hungry,  and  a  man  is  not 
himself  until  he  has  his  dinner.  1  hope  he  won't  take  any  such 
notion.  You  are  to  be  pitied,  Mrs.  Grieveau,  and  your  little 
sister  Lucille — bless  her  heart.  I  will  see  you  again  to-morrow, 
and  perhaps  can  bring  something  for  your  journey  that  may 
add  to  your  store  and  remind  of  a  Barrytown  friend." 

With  another  kiss  and  warm  embrace  the  good  neighbor 
went  her  way,  not  neglecting  the  task  of  spreading  the  newly 


WHO   WERE   TO  BLAME.  27 

acquired  information  that  "the  Grieveau's  were  going  west  I 
The  whole  family!  Myra's  father,  Dr.  Gascoigne;  her  sister 
Lucille,  her  brother  John  and  his  wife."  For  what  woman  in- 
habiting a  country  village,  having  a  particle  of  enterprise  or 
snap  about  her,  ever  let  the  sun  go  down  on  such  a  startling 
piece  of  news? 

And  before  night  it  transpired  that  the  more  garrulous 
women  of  this  quiet  town  were  shaking  their  heads  ominously, 
wagging  gossippy  tongues,  throwing  up  hands  in  amazement, 
exclaiming,  after  the  fashion  of  such*  "Do  tell!  You  can'c 
mean  it!  Well  I  never!  I  wouldn't  go  one  step  if  I  were  Myra 
Grieveau  or  Lucille  Gascoigne,  so  I  wouldn't.  What  a  head- 
strong: fellow  that  Eben  Grieveau  is,  to  be  sure,  and  dear  old 
Dr.  Gascoigne  must  be  losing  his  senses  leaving  his  home  and 
practice  here  going  away  off  out  west  with  nothing  to  depend 
upon  in  his  old  age  but  that  good-for-nothing  son  of  his.  It's 
just  a  shame  to  drag  those  two  dear  girls,  Myra  and  Lucille,  out 
there,  away  from  all  their  friends.  Reckon  if  their  mother'd 
lived  and  their  father  hadn't  got  so  broke  down  things  would 
a  been  different." 

As  for  the  men  of  the  village,  if  the  truth  must  be  told, 
nearly  every  one  had  the  *'  western  fever "  with  an  intensity 
equaled  only  in  the  case  of  Eben  himself — and  of  course  offered 
scant  criticism. 

However,  after  the  first  excitement,  all  set  to  work  doing 
what  they  could  in  giving  the  movers  a  good  send  off — assist- 
ing in  every  way  possible,  even  though  many  regretted  the 
change  and  disapproved  of  the  venture. 


THE  STALWARTS;    OR. 


CHAPTER  III. 

HEREDITY. 


During  the  conversation  between  Myra  Grieveau  and  her 
kind  neighbor,  the  young  sister  to  whom  she  had  been  counseler 
and  comforter,  since  the  dear  mother  was  laid  to  rest  years  be- 
fore, sat  quietly  in  the  adjoining  room,  her  heart  too  full  for  idle 
talk. 

She  could  not  reconcile  her  mind  to  the  thought  of  the  new 
project,  and  regarded  it  with  extreme  aversion  for  a  special 
reason  known  only  to  herself. 

When  Mrs.  Sykes  had  gone,  Lucille,  breaking  over  her 
usual  composed  demeanor,  threw  her  arms  about  her  sister,  sob- 
bing: "  Oh!  Myra,  Myra,  must  we  go?" 

"Yes,  dear,"  answered  Myra,  soothingly.  "  I  fear  there  is 
no  other  alternative.  Father  and  your  brother  Eben  have  so 
decided,  and  I  am  sure  not  one  w^ord  we  can  say  will  move 
them;  besides  our  consent  has  not  been  asked.  It  is  hard  in- 
deed, my  dear,  for  3-0U  to  leave.jour  comforts,  friends  and  life- 
long associations,  but  I  have  in  addition  to  all  this,  the  grief 
caused  by  the  knowledge  that  my  husband,  whom  I  have 
adored,  cares  not  enough  for  my  desires  to  give  them  a  mo- 
ment's consideration  when  they  antagonize  his  plans  and  inten- 
tions. I  would  gladly  yield  my  preference  did  he  deem  it 
worth  while  to  ask  the  concession ;  that  he  does  not  is  evident, 
and  so  long  as  he  continues  to  avoid  it  I  cannot  approach  the 
subject. 

"My  dear  Lucille,  I  fear  I  shall  never  regain  the  feeling  of 
trustfulness  in  my  husband's  love  and  devotion  which  has  made 
life  so  happy.  A  barrier,  seemingly  insurmountable,  has  arisen 
between  us" — and  sorrowful,  downcast  Myra  laid  her  face  in 
her  hands  and  wept  as  only  women  can. 

Soon  regaining  her  composure  and  looking  up,  she  was 
surprised  by  her  sister,  who  was  quietly  sobbing,  almost  con- 
vulsed with  grief,  trying,  but  in  vain,  to  conceal  her  distress. 

"  Lucille,  dear,  forgive  me;  how  selfish  my  own  trouble  has 
made  me.  I  have  been  blind  and  stupid  not  to  notice  before 
this  the  change  in  you,  which  certainly  betokens  something 
more  serious  than  our  moving  west.     My  poor  girl,  how  strange 


IV HO   WERE   TO  BLAME.  29 

and   white  you  look.      What  is  the   matter?     What  has  hap- 
pened?" 

And  Myra  took  her  weeping  sister  tenderly  in  her  arms. 

Mystery  of  life!  Here  were  two  beautiful  women,  either 
all  any  man  could  desire,  and  yet  estrangement  had  come  be- 
tween them  and  the  loved  one.  Now  each  was  supremely 
miserable. 

We  have  seen  how  Myra's  unhappiness  commenced;  Lu- 
cille's  trouble  was  even  more  trying.  In  a  thoughtless  moment 
she  had  made  some  laughing  remarks,  of  no  account  in  them- 
selves, but  intended  to  lead  her  bantering  companions  astray  as 
to  how  much  she  really  cared  for  her  lover,  which  being  re- 
peated by  those  envious  girls  with  added  coloring,  had  shocked, 
and,  she  feared,  alienated  him  forever.  And  he  had  given  her 
no  opportunity  for  explanation,  but,  man-like,  simply  kept  him- 
self away,  not  even  condescending  a  recognition  when  they  met, 
as  often  happened,  he  in  the  company  of  those  same  frivolous 
girls  who  had  caused  the  difficulty. 

Just  so  cruel  and  hard-hearted  are  men  when  they  take  a 
freak,  just  so  proud  and  stubborn. 

And  she,  her  strong  love  controlled  by  maidenly  reserve, 
sensitive,  wronged,  could  make  no  advances  towards  a  reconcilia- 
tion; he  would  then  consider  her  unfeminine,  bold,  and  be  still 
more  antagonized. 

She  could  only  wait  patiently,  hoping  her  sad  face,  quiet  dig- 
nity, and  a  belief  in  her  steadfast  love  which  she  thought  must 
surely  influence  him  when  his  resentm.ent  had  time  to  cool, 
would  after  a  while  touch  his  heart  and  he  would  of  his  own 
accord  come  to  her. 

This  was  the  only  course  Lucille  felt  she  ought  to  pursue; 
the  only  advice  her  elder  sister  could  give.  This  their  training, 
the  invariable  usage  of  those  times,  it  did  not  occur  to  either 
that  it  would  be  proper  to  solicit  an  interview.  Such  a  for- 
ward and  immodest  proceeding  was  not  to  be  for  a  moment 
considered. 

Lucille's  heart  throbbed  wildly  and  sobs  choked  her  utter- 
ance, as  she  recounted  how,  when  they  chanced  to  meet,  Henry 
Armstrong  did  not  deign  a  look  tow^ards  her  whose  love  was 
as  ever  still  so  true.  And  now  they  were  to  go  away  into  the 
far  west;  the  separation  might  be  final. 

"Oh!  Myra,  sister,"  cried  Lucille,  wringing  her  hands  and 
pacing  the  floor  of  the  little  sitting-room ;  "  I  cannot  give  him 
up.     I  can  never  let  him  go.     He  was  so  good  and  true  and 


30  THE  STALWARTS:   OR, 

noble  every  way  before  this  dreadful  trouble  came;  but  now 
lie  won't  speak  to  me;  scarcely  even  look  at  me.  Oh!  sister, 
what  can  I  do?     I  shall  surely  die.     I  know  I  shall  die." 

But  Lucille  did  not;  instead  she  learned  to  endure  what 
could  not  be  cured,  as  has  many  another  woman. 

The  question  now  was,  would  Henry,  putting  aside  his 
wounded  pride,  come  and  see  her  before  she  w^ent  away  and  it 
might  be  forever  too  late? 

Lucille  hoped,  prayed  that  he  would;  but  he  did  not  come. 
Of  course  not,  no  man  in  love  ever  acted  in  so  sensible  a  manner. 

For  Henry  Armstrong  was  in  love,  madly,  desperately,  and 
this  is  why  he  allowed  jealousy,  fed  by  those  foolish,  unfairly 
repeated  remarks,  to  make  him  play  the  despicable  fool,  and 
actually  let  the  dear  heart-broken  girl  go  away  without  so  much 
as  a  good  bye.  Such  is  life.  Notwithstanding,  afterwards 
when  she  was  gone,  regret  came  in  and  grew  until  Lucille's  sad 
face  haunted  him  night  and  day. 

Could  he  have  seen  her  then  all  would  have  been  well,  but 
to  apologize  in  writing  for  what  he  then  felt  to  be  his  cruel  in- 
justice was  more  than  his  pride  would  let  him  do,  and  although 
Henry  longed  for  Lucille  years  and  years  after  with  a  love 
which  increased  with  his  strength,  and  was  at  times  overpower- 
ing, he  too,  as  well  as  Eben,  allowed  much  of  sorrow  to  result 
from  his  mistaken  willfulness,  so  nearly  alike  are  men  in  dispo- 
sition. Henry  reasoned  whenever  he  thought  of  Lucille  in  the 
after  years,  "Women  are  heartless  and  fickle,  separation  and 
time  always  dissipates  their  affection.  She  should  see  that  he 
could  forget  too." 

Did  she  forget?     Did  either? 

Not  in  the  least. 

And  many  there  are  like  these  two,  memory-tortured,  carry- 
ing bleeding  hearts,  still  bleeding  to  their  dying  day. 

Some,  after  a  while  perhaps,  unite  themselves  with  other 
mates,  for  no  loving  nature  can  destroy  its  desire  for  the  close 
companionship  of  marriage,  the  comforts  of  home,  the  love  of 
children,  and  thus  it  happens  both  men  and  women  when  they 
cannot  find,  or  have  through  some  misfortune  lost  the  needed 
completement,  at  last  content  themselves  as  best  they  may  with 
an  available  substitute. 

But  these  are  rarely  satisfying,  never  to  the  extremely  sensi- 
tive; breeding  unhappiness  in  the  present  to  themselves  and 
entailing  lifelong  misery  upon  their  children;  even  their  child- 
ren's children. 


IV HO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  31 

The  offspring  of  such  unions,  or  where  discord  has  entered, 
being  born  in  many  instances,  not  only  with  distorted  moral 
natures,  but  with  physical  deformity  for  their  inheritance;  in- 
sanity in  their  brains,  murder  in  their  hearts,  the  only  possible 
result — bitter,  blighted  lives. 

How  much  better  for  individuals  and  the  race,  did  men  and 
women  deal  fairly  and  openly  with  each  other,  from  a  stand- 
point of  equality  as  to  privileges  in  all  their  intercourse  in  every 
circumstance  of  life,  and  when  a  true,  pure  love  lises  up  in  the 
heart  letting  nothing  short  of  death  interpose  to  prevent  the 
final  consummation  of  right  living  and  fulness  of  joy. 

Humanity,  even  when  begotten  of  congenial  and  enlightened 
love,  being  disabled  by  ages  of  ignorance  and  prejudice  not  yet 
dispelled,  coming  to  maturity,  the  two  halves  unequally  yoked  to- 
gether, still  further  enthralled. 

\V^e  see  two  babes  in  one  cradle,  a  boy  and  a  girl — they 
grow  apace;  the  boy  full  of  strength  and  ambition  going  out 
into  the  world's  open  field  equipped  for  conquest,  and  to  gain 
happiness;  the  girl,  hampered  by  adverse  customs,  doing  what 
she  can  in  the  same  direction,  but  with  body,  mind  and  heart 
cramped — her  life  oft  times  wrecked  because  of  the  lack  of  suit- 
able opportunity  for  the  exercise  of  her  powers,  the  acheive- 
ment  of  her  aspirations. 

The  boy,  too,  missing  the  best  things  of  life  because  his 
sister  has  been  roughly  ignored  in  the  race,  no  friendly  hand 
extended  to  keep  for  her  an  honored  place  by  his  side,  and  when 
dire  emergencies  come,  she  who  should  be,  is  not  there. 

Out  in  the  world  he  sees  little  real  equity  and  truth,  or 
brotherhood  of  feeling;  but  instead,  self-seeking  hypocrisy  and 
deceit,  cruelty,  temptation,  sin. 

He  finds  that  since  the  human  race  came  forth  by  the 
thought  of  God,  asserting  individual  being,  each  man,  as  did 
the  traditional  Adam,  has  with  few  exceptions,  taken  care  of 
his  own  immediate  concerns,  the  dearest  ties  of  which  he  is 
capable  continually  sacrificed  upon  the  altar  of  self-interest; 
and  woman,  who  should  be  his  cherished  companion,  too  often 
overwhelmed  in  trouble  and  suffering,  without  power  to  remedy 
wrongs,  which,  though  inflicted  primarily  upon  herself  and  off- 
spring, must  surely  also  react  upon  him. 

For  even  our  mistakes  and  unintentional  errors  follow  us  in 
consequences  more  or  less  detrimental  to  the  end  of  time. 

And  further,  making  matters  worse,  the  laws  of  society 
beirrg  arranged  upon  the  basis  of  self-preservation  by  those  who 


32  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

have  thus  been  able  to  protect  themselves,  claiming  the  best 
good  of  mankind  demands  that  the  weak  should  be  left  to  the 
tender  mercies  of  the  strong  as  has  been  taught  and  believed  for 
hundreds  and  thousands  of  years,  w^hen  in  reality  those  laws 
and  practices  breed  only  injustice,  and  ruin  to  individuals  both 
men  and  women  and  detriment  to  the  race  because  grounded  in 
selfishness.  Pre-eminently  is  this  true  of  relationships  between 
men  and  women,  and  of  the  laws  governing  those  ties  held  of 
all  others  most  sacred. 

By  slow  degrees  has  woman,  as  will  be  conceded,  in  spite  of 
various  disabilities,  worked  her  way  up  until  the  loving-kindness 
of  her  nature,  careful  prudence,  and  pure  instincts  have  per- 
meated the  pulses  of  being  through  all  the  channels  of  life — the 
race  improved  and  benefitted  in  just  so  far  as  these  influences 
have  predominated. 

But  woman's  inevitable  lot  is  to  love,  and  because  of  her 
yearning  heart  to  suffer.  Only  an  affection  as  pure  and  endur- 
ing as  her  own  bestowed  in  return  can  compensate;  less  radical 
remedies  but  modifying  or  partially  improving  her  estate;  there 
is  no  other  real  panacea  for  her  unavoidable  griefs. 
Not  passion — but  love ! 

For  passion  devoid  of  love  burns,  consumes,  destroys. 

Love  purifies,  exalts,  ennobles,  bestows  life  and  youth  eternal. 

Every  emotion  of  love,  every  enthusiasm  of  being,  lifts  and 

helps  mankind  into  the  light  of   that  perfect  day  where  is  joy 

forever  more;  by  love  shall  every  good  be  restored,  all  that  is 

beautiful  and  great  be  acheived. 

Love!  Transfixing  every  atom  of  humanity  with  a  heavenly 
thrill  of  delight;  transfiguring  the  face  with  the  beams  of  an 
angelic  radiance.  Love!  Which  baptises  the  soul  in  ineffable 
bliss  and  peace;  sometime,  somewhere,  this  consummation  of 
the  joy  of  living  must  reach  every  human  creature,  else  the 
purpose  of  all  existence  comes  to  naught. 

In  the  balance  of  Infinity  souls  ai-e  measured  by  their  power 
of  loving!  Thuse  having  loved  much  the  more  worthy  they; 
and  one  whose  attributes  have  called  forth  this  most  holy  and 
divine  passion  from  another,  judged  to  have  thereby  conferred 
an  inestimable  blessing,  and  each  to  be  forever  weighted  with 
responsibilities  sacred  beyond  estimation. 

Life  in  an  atmosphere  of  love  constitutes  the  Heaven  of  the 

eternal  ages,  which  has  been,  which  now  is,  which  ever  shall  be. 

Oh!  Love!     Thy  power  is  infinite,  but  ofttimes  thou  art   a 

wavering  flame,  a  tender  flower,  a  breath  can  quench  thy  light, 


IVNO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  33 

can  blight  thy  growth  ;  with  what  assiduity  should  we  tend  thee, 
with  what  care  shield  thee. 

Once,  possibly  twice  or  thrice  comes  to  us  this  dearest  boon, 
but  with  what  trifling  do  we  receive  and  roughly  handle  the  price- 
less treasure;  would  some  power  discernment  bestow,  that  havino- 
more  wisdom,  and  growing  happier,  the  race,  as  a  sure  resuh, 
better,  ourselves  and  our  children  generation  after  generation. 

Here  were  two  beautiful  women,  with  woman's  lot  upon 
them  to  love,  to  yearn,  to  weep,  so  soon  to  be  removed  from 
the  refinements  which  were  to  them  an  essential  of  happiness; 
for  they  were  capable  of  enjoying  as  well  as  suffering  more  in- 
tensely than  coarser  natures. 

Sad  enough   could  they  have  had  the  consolation  of  appre- 
ciative love,  in  life's  closest  and  most  satisfying  companionship. 
But  this  boon  was  denied  them;  it  may 'have  been  in  the  in- 
terest of  destiny. 

Industriously  were  the  preparations  made  for  the  weary 
journey  by  the  sisters,  assisted  in  their  task  by  friendly  neigh- 
bors, the  whole  village  astir  and  interested  in  the  work.  The 
coarse  garments  needed  were  made,  fruits  dried,  even  roots  and 
herbs  medicinal;  good  grandma  Guenther  preparing,  sorting 
and  labeHng  them  all  nicely  for  use  in  every  ailment,  as  she 
thought,  not  knowing  the  disease  more  dreaded  than  all  others 
on  those  distant  prairies  was  the  quaking,  shivering,  teeth- 
rattling  western  ague  for  which  her  mild  herbs  would  be  about 
as  efficacious  as  so  much  water.  Only  the  bitterest  of  bitters 
could  suffice  for  this  cure,  as  our  friends  found. 

Quickly  the  weeks  flew  away,  at  last  all  was  ready  and 
they  were  to  start  on  the  morrow  notwithstanding  the  siehine 
and  the  grieving.  &       & 

Lucille  still  hoped  that  Henry  would  come  to  her  at  the  last 
moment,  but  Myra's  heart  grew  heavier  each  day.  Eben  now 
absolutely  avoiding  his  wife,  for  he  could  not  endure  the  sight  of 
her  reproachful  eyes. 

Sadly  the  neighbors  came  to  bid  them  good  bye  and  cheer 
as  best  they  could.  "I'm  coming  out  to  see  you,"  and 
''You'll  be  back  next  summer  perhaps."  "You  must  write 
and  tell  us  all  about  how  you  like  it,  and  everything  concerning 
yourselves,  and  whether  we  can  do  well  there,  for  we're  coming 
too,  you  may  be  sure,"  were  some  of  the  messages  heard  on 
every  side;  but  alas!  with  one  or  two  exceptions,  those  friends 
so  true  met  not  again  on  earth— broken  ties  are  seldom  reunited. 
When  we  part  it  is  for  aye. 


84  THE  ST  A  U  WARTS;   UK, 

When  the  leave  taking  and  commotion  were  ended,  the 
village  hushed  in  slumber,  Myra  stole  out  from  the  little  home 
which  she  had  loved  as  though  it  were  a  human  life,  and  alone 
walked  rapidly  to  the  church-yard  where  lay  in  the  still  light 
the  grave  of  mother  long  since  departed,  and  of  her  own  little 
one,  both  so  dear;  not  until  then  did  she  pour  out  her  broken 
farewell  of  all  that  must  inevitably  be  left  behind. 

Softly  came  Lucille  also  to  her  mother's  last  resting  place, 
and  the  stricken  sisters  wept  in  each  other's  arms. 

A  grave  may  be  of  less  account  than  some  other  things,  but 
for  years  past  sacred  memories  had  clustered  about  this  treasured 
spot,  and  these  two  felt  they  were  taking  final  leave  of  that 
which  to  them  was  very  precious,  and  as  the  sisters  turned 
away  they  dropped  scalding  tears. 

The  coming  morning  putting  aside  dreary  contemplations 
Myra  and  Lucille  arose  betimes,  bright  and  cheerful  to  outward 
seeming,  and  joining  the  others  busily  prepared  for  the  starting. 
Before  the  sun  reached  mid-heaven  the  last  words  were  spoken 
good  byes  said,  and  the  moving  train  of  wagons  had  passed  over 
the  western  hills,  beyond  the  little  village  with  its  pleasant 
homes,  its  friends  tried  and  true,  and  our  travelers  were  fairly 
on  their  way,  had  entered  upon  a  new  world,  an  expanded  life. 


IV//0  WERE  TO  BLAME. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


REMARKABLE    INCIDENTS. 


From  day  to  day  without  serious  accident  or  hindrance  our 
friends  pursued  their  journey,  determined  to  make  the  best  of 
whatever  happened  now  that  the  die  was  cast,  and  although  a 
sigh  of  regret  and  occasional  homesickness  would  come  to  some 
of  the  party,  they  all  agreed  without  dissent,  to  cheer,  help  and 
comfort  one  another. 

The  out-door  life  gave  increased  strength  to  those  who  were 
depressed  or  ailing,  the  fresh  breezes  were  soul-inspiring,  im- 
parting elasticity  of  spirit  and  consequent  health,  sleep  had 
never  seemed  so  restful  nor  food  eaten  with  better  relish,  the 
sun  was  bright,  and  the  free  sweep  of  clear  air  untrammeled  by 
roof,  wall  or  shutter,  relieved  all  sense  of  oppressive  heat;  ex- 
istence was  a  joy,  to  be — was  Heaven. 

The  enthusiasm  of  these  pioneer  travelers  was  boundless. 
They  said,  "Why  will  people  remain  cooped  up  in  houses  all 
the  beautiful  summer-time,  when  broad  prairies — green  woods 
— rippling  streams — placid  lakes — and  God's  pure  air  say  come.'* 

Even  Myra  and  Lucille  found  partial  compensation  for  the 
comforts  they  had  left  behind,  but  for  present  trouble  there 
came  no  relief. 

Lucille  felt  hope  dying,  her  heart  sinking  within  her,  as 
they  journeyed  on,  farther  and  farther  away  from  Henry;  and 
Myra's  pale  face  grew  sadder,  her  manner  more  abstracted  each 
day,  for  Eben  still  avoided  his  wife. 

The  way  of  our  movers  lay  directly  across  one  of  Nature's 
inland  seas,  ever  glorious  Lake  Michigan,  forever  singing, 
moaning,  tossing,  dancing,  raging,  always  beautiful. 

Beautiful  water,  now  light  cerulean  blue,  now  white  with 
misty  paleness,  now  dark  and  green  with  jealous  wrath. 

Anon  rocking  gently  as  a  mother  her  sleeping  babe  the 
many  sheeted  craft  upon  her  bosom,  and  again  lashing  their 
sides  with  her  wild  waves  in  unreasoning  fury. 

Gently  sigh  the  summer  winds  across  her  placid  breast, 
imtil  gathering  strength  and  passion,  whirling,  whistling,  shriek- 
ing like  demons,  they  come  rushing  on,  mercilessly  driving  to 
destruction  and  death  many  a  fated  ship  with  all  on  board. 


36  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

Beautiful,  glorious,  treacherous  Michigan  I  When  wilt  thou 
give  up  the  ghostly  army  of  thy  dead,  the  debris  of  untold 
wealth,  buried  deep  out  of  sight  beneath  thy  cruel  waters? 
Nevermore — and  yet  we  love  thee,  we  worship  at  thy  shrine. 

As  our  travelers  neared  the  wonderful  lake  of  which  they 
had  heard  so  much,  and  knew  the  time  had  come  for  embark- 
ing and  crossing,  many  misgivings  filled  the  timid  hearts  of  the 
women  and  children.  In  those  early  days  of  lake  navigation  a 
safe  journey  without  unpleasant  accident  was  the  exception, 
and  our  friends  wished  themselves  back  in  their  eastern  home 
before  the  transit  was  finished,  for  it  proved  a  remarkable  voy- 
age not  devoid  of  danger. 

A  storm  arose  whereby  some  peculiar  incidents  were  de- 
veloped, and  besides  they  w^ere  for  hours  tossed  about  at  the 
mercy  of  the  waves  until  terror  was  in  every  breast  illy  con- 
cealed. 

The  anxiety  of  the  crew  and  at  last  of  the  older  passengers 
as  they  became  aware  of  the  trouble  which  threatened  them, 
was  intensified  to  a  sickening  dread  when  it  was  known  the 
captain  had  lost  his  course  and  could  not  find  his  soundings. 

From  a  cause  never  explained  a  light  which  should  have 
been  near  some  rocks,  and  indispensable  to  safe  navigation,  had 
disappeared,  and  they  were  now  close  upon  the  coast  with  a 
dreadful  gale  carrying  them  on  to  destruction,  one  of  those 
summer  terrors  breaking  unexpectedly  from  out  a  clear  sky, 
when  the  weather  is  unusually  hot  and  sultry. 

As  all  these  rumors  were  spreading  and  the  belief  was 
growing  that  they  might  at  any  moment  go  to  pieces  on  the 
rocky  shore,  a  panic  among  the  passengers  was  imminent;  even 
the  sailors,  when  they  could  not  see  the  accustomed  light,  w^ere 
frightened,  unruly  and  mutinous. 

The  waves  were  now  dashing  over  bow  and  deck  of  the 
little  tub-like  craft  of  the  olden  time,  washing  away  every 
moveable  thing,  and  as  she  struggled  along  her  course,  chop- 
ping across  the  terrible  sea,  now  rising  on  the  foamy  crests, 
then  plunging  madly  into  the  deep,  dark  trough,  her  masts 
stripped  of  every  rag  of  canvas — her  yards  dipping  into  the 
seething  waters  as  she  lurched,  then  righting  herself  bravely, 
coming  heroically  up  again  on  the  highest  white  capped  wave, 
shaking  her  drenched  and  dripping  sides,  quivering  in  every 
atom — but  still  not  dismayed,  not  overcome — on  went  the  little 
ship,  seeming  a  living  thing  in  her  staunch  striving  to  reach  a 
place  of  safety  for  the  precious  freight  entrusted  to  her  keeping. 


n'//0  WERE  TO  BLAME.  37 

As  the  vessel  was  now  deluged  in  evfery  part  except  the 
pilot-house  where  the  captain  was  stationed,  himself  working 
the  wheel,  the  whole  ship's  company  were  gathered  there 
awaiting  their  expected  doom,  the  excitement  momentarily 
increasing;  women  and  children  crying  and  screaming;  nien 
shouting  and  cursing;  the  captain  and  officers  calmly  as  possible 
giving  orders,  the  crew  trying  but  in  vain  to  obey. 

Just  then  appeared  in  their  midst  a  large,  lank,  loose-jointed 
individual,  lantern-jawed,  with  high  cheek  bones,  unkempt 
hair,  prominent  immense  nose,  and  otherwise  of  ungainly 
feature,  and  with  long,  bony  hands  and  feet  and  limbs;  but 
having  withall  a  pleasant  eye,  of  wonderful  intelligence,  light- 
ing up  the  whole  face  with  magnetic  kindness,  a  genial  smile, 
and  a  voice  full,  strong  and  deep;  of  that  penetrating,  out- 
going, lofty  quality,  clear  and  ringing,  yet  tender  and  calm,, 
which  can  be  heard  above  the  loudest  storm,  can  still  the  wildest 
tumult;  the  voice  of  a  man  born  to  comfort  the  distressed,  no 
less  than  to  command  obedience  from  the  unruly. 

He  came  forward  from  no  one  noticed  where,  and  amid  all 
the  terror  and  confusion,  seated  himself  quietly  up  by  the  cap- 
tain's side  upon  a  coil  of  rope,  and  commenced,  no  one  knew 
exactly  when  or  how,  telling  them  a  story  in  a  slow,  measured, 
monotonous  tone,  but  loud  enough  to  be  distinctly  heard  and  to 
attract  attention. 

The  absolute  indifference  which  this  strange  man  apparently 
felt  as  to  his  surroundings  of  danger  and  excitement,  could  not 
but  arouse  the  interest  of  those  who  saw  and  heard  him.  Just 
who  he  was  talking  to  no  one  could  say  or  did  they  care,  but 
iu  a  little  time  he  had  gained  the  wrapt  attention  of  all,  and  the 
people,  gathering  about  him,  looking  up,  straining  eye  and  ear 
in  nervous  intensity,  were  listening  to  the  weird  yarn  he  was 
lelling  them;  a  story  of  deliverance  from  expected  disaster  by 
the  intervention  of  an  instrumentality  fully  as  remarkable 
though  more  humorous  than  their  own  experience  proved. 

Very  serious  was  the  narrative  at  first  until  the  spell  became 
painful,  then  with  wonderful  tact  and  skill  he  led  them  into 
the  ludicrous,  and  before  they  knew  what  was  coming  those 
frightened  people  had  forgotten  their  fear  and  were  roaring 
with  laughter,  loud  and  long,  joined  by  the  man  who  after- 
wards achieved  the  distinction  of  being  the  champion  story- 
teller of  his  time. 

A  man  of  uncouth  presence  and  backwoodsman's  ways,  but 
with  sagacity,  moderation,  calmness  and  courage,   which   then 


38  THE  STALWARTS;   OK, 

helped  rescue  from  peril  and  long  after  carried  a  Republic  safely 
through  a  period  of  stormy  wrath,  when  grievous  crime  to  in- 
dividuals and  to  the  State  seemed  likely  to  end  in  National 
shipwreck  and  ruin. 

A  man  possessed  of  great  power  over  his  fellows,  bred  from 
a  sympathetic  nature  and  an  honest  purpose  through  a  personal 
gift  with  which  few  are  endowed  in  the  same  degree,  capable 
of  controlling  excitement  in  each  breast  as  though  by  magic, 
entrancing  all  at  his  will. 

Little  Gertrude,  who,  if  always  timid,  had  quick  perceptions, 
and  seldom  made  mistakes  in  her  choice  of  friends,  had,  when 
the  story  began,  slipped  from  her  terrorized  mother's  lap,  and 
clambering  up  the  short  ladder  to  the  top  of  the  pilot-house,  in- 
stalled herself,  without  hindrance,  upon  this  wondrous  story- 
teller's knee. 

Was  it  a  childish  liking  which  drew  these  two  together, 
or  something  deeper,  far-reaching  and  beyond  our  knowledge  ? 

Certain  it  is  that  their  paths  in  life  led  each,  by  devious 
ways,  to  the  center  upon  which  riveted  the  eyes  of  a  great 
Nation,  in  the  enactment  of  similar  tragedies,  and  in  which 
each  was   a  sufferer. 

The  storm  now  abating  and  confidence  being  somewhat 
restored,  partly  at  least,  through  this  man's  influence,  the  pas- 
sengers and  crew  becoming  again  manageable,  a  dire  calamity 
was  averted. 

Averted^  Yes,  that  a  greater  than  any  dreamed  of  might 
rest  upon  some  of  those  in  that  little  party,  might  overtake  a 
doomed  man,  might  come  to  a  babe  yet  unborn;  for  Fate  never 
allows  herself  to  be  defrauded  of  her  prey ! 

But  to  the  good  Methodist  Captain,  noted  for  his  extraordi- 
nary experiences,  was  decreed  the  episode  which  proved  to  be 
the  climax  of  this  remarkable  voyage,  for  as  the  storm  and  the 
panic  were  together  subsiding,  and  they  hoped  soon  to  reach 
the  desired  harbor,  it  was  found  that  the  ship  had  sprung  a 
leak  and  was  well  nigh  disabled.  The  Captain,  passengers 
and  crew  were  again  terror-stricken,  when  suddenly  he  shout- 
ed, "See  there!  See!  There  she  is:  Afy  angel  child!'*''  at  the 
same  time  pointing  to  the  top  of  the  highest  mast.  Instantly 
every  eye  was  fixed  upon  an  apparition  which  we  will  discribe 
to  you  in  the  Captain's  own  words,  as  we  heard  the  narration  at 
his  fireside,  related  in  proof  of  his  right  to  believe  in  the  recog- 
nition of  friends  after  death,  he  insisting  that  loss  of  identity 
would  amount  to  annihilation,  and  unjustly  defraud   the   Chris- 


ll'HO  WERE   TO  BLAME.  39 

tian  of  the  promise  made  in  Holy  Writ  as  to  Immortal  Life. 
In  corroboration  of  his  faith  he  said,  "Let  me  tell  you  a  sailor's 
yarn,  in  a  sailor's  old-fashioned  way: — Several  years  ago  we 
lost  the  darling  of  our  flock,  a  dear  little  girl.  There  existed 
a  peculiar  bond  between  the  child  and  myself,  different  from 
any  I  have  ever  experienced,  and  after  she  was  gone,  the  con- 
viction grew  until  1  could  not  shake  it  off  that  she  was  Oiten 
near  me,  especially  in  times  of  extreme  peril,  and  as  my  life 
was  beset  with  dangers,  I  came  after  a  while  to  regard  my  lost 
child  as  a  guardian  angel. 

"One  of  the  most  wonderful  manifestations  of  her  presence 
occurred  during  a  severe  storm  on  Lake  Michigan,  which  I 
was  crossing,  my  vessel  loaded  with  passengers  and  freight 
bound  for  Chicago. 

"The  day  had  been  hot  and  sultry,  and  at  nightfall  when 
nearing  the  coast  we  were  overtaken  by  a  fearful  storm  and 
blown  far  north  of  our  intended  destination,  narrowly  escaping 
shipwreck. 

"As  the  night  advanced  towards  the  morning,  the  wind  and 
rain,  the  thunder  and  lightning  ceased ;  and  although  I  had  been 
able  so  far  to  control  the  crew  and  passengers,  as  to  work  the 
ship  for  the  best  advantage,  by  the  help  of  a  man  then  a  stranger 
to  us  all,  but  since  become  world  renowned,  and  who  seemed  to 
to  possess  unbounded  influence  .over  them,  thus  preventing  a 
fatal  mutiny;  I  discovered  at  the  moment  when  our  prospects 
began  to  brighten,  our  minds  to  feel  relief,  that  the  ship  had  in 
the  terrible  gale  sprung  a  leak,  and  to  make  matters  worse  a 
light  near  some  dangerous  rocks,  outside  the  harbor  we  were 
trying  to  make,  could  not  be  seen.  All  on  board  were  in  de- 
spair, when  casting  my  eyes  Heavenward,  I  saw  plainly  as  I 
see  you  now,  my  angel  child  standing  on  the  tallest  mast-head, 
her  long  golden  hair  streaming  in  the  wind,  her  outstretched 
hand  pointing  imperatively  towards  the  shore. 

"Against  the  dark  clouds  her  luminous  body  stood  out  bright 
and  beautiful,  the  whole  form  distinctly  visible,  even  the  ex- 
pression of  her  face. 

"Hesitating  not  a  moment  I  righted  the  ship  about,  chang- 
ing entirely  our  former  course,  for  I  knew  by  other  similar  ex- 
periences there  was  safety  only  in  following  her  guiding  finger, 
although  directed  toward  what  appeared  to  be  a  solid  wall  and 
certain  destruction,  besides  we  could  not  be  more  sure  of  disaster 
if  I  obeyed  her  than  we  already  were.  On  we  went,  bound 
straight   for  the   rocky  shore  where  apparently  was  not  a  seam 


40  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

or  crevice,  the  water  coming  through  the  strained  timbers  of 
our  doomed  vessel  at  every  plunge — we  must  be  speedily  saved 
or  surely  perish. 

"Still  at  the  mast-head  stood  the  luminous  child  with  the 
bright  flowing  hair,  the  imperative  gesture;  we  were  now  close 
upon  the  shore,  when  by  the  moonlight  breaking  through  the 
clouds,  we  could  discern  a  fissure  in  the  rocky  wall,  and  coming- 
through  a  running  stream,  narrow  but  deep;  we  followed  its 
course  and  cliscovered  not  the  well  known  harbor  we  had  hoped 
to  enter,  which  was  afterwards  proven  to  have  been  beyond 
our  reach  in  our  disabled  condition,  but  we  found  inside  that 
rock  bound  coast,  the  snuggest  haven  that  ever  blessed  a  storm- 
tossed  mariner.  A  harbor  not  then  upon  any  chart  and  be- 
lieved to  have  been  entered  for  the  first  time  by  civilized  navi- 
gators as  the  result  of  this  miraculous  interposition  of  Provi- 
dence. 

"As  the  light  broke  over  her  the  wonderful  child  gradually 
faded  from  view;  but"  said  the  Captain,  "nothing  can  convince 
me  that  I  did  not  see  her  reall}'  and  truly,  and  I  know  she  still 
guards  me  when  danger  is  near. 

"We  dropped  anchor,  making  all  safe  as  possible,  just  as  the 
morning  sun  broke  in  glory  across  our  deck,  and  I  am  sure 
every  one  on  board  was  impressed  to  thank  the  God  of  the 
living  and  the  dead,  {^dead  as  we  say)  for  our  deliverance." 

And  thus  after  much  tribulation,  though  storm-tossed, 
angel-guided,  our  travelers  reached  the  land,  to  them  of  golden 
promise. 

But  the  events  of  that  memorable  night  were  not  soon 
forgotten,  and  those  who  passed  through  its  terror,  gloom  and 
peril,  ever  after  believed  in  the  supernatural.  This  belief  col- 
ored all  their  lives,  even  the  life  of  an  unborn  babe,  w^hose 
mother  enduring  these  thrilling  experiences,  witnessing  this 
extraordinary  phenomenon,  transmitted  to  her  offspring  impress- 
ions culminating  in  destiny,  and  fulfilling  the  behests  of  Fate. 


IVHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  41 


CHAPTER  V. 

CHICAGO. 

Although  not  coming  as  they  had  e'xpected  directly  into  the 
harbor  of  Chicago,  our  friends,  but  a  day's  journey  north  of 
their  destination,  were  too  thankful  for  their  miraculous  deliv- 
erance and  to  touch  land  again,  for  complaint. 

As  the  Captain  did  not  advise  further  risk  upon  his  badly 
strained  vessel,  a  day  was  spent  in  disembarking,  drying  stores 
and  equipage,  and  preparing  for  their  journey  in  wagons  to  the 
much  talked  of  and  even  then  famed  Chicago. 

The  second  morning  after  the  landing  they  arose  with  the 
sun,  and  while  the  men  were  loading  and  getting  the  teams 
ready  the  women  prepared  a  delicious  breakfast  of  fish  caught 
from  the  treacherous  lake,  and  some  wild  strawberries  the 
children  had  gathered. 

By  six  o'clock  they  were  on  their  way,  leaving  regretfully 
behind  the  Captain  and  his  crew,  each  wagon  making  room 
for  an  additional  passenger  or  two,  thus  accommodating  those 
who  had  reckoned  upon  reaching  Chicago  by  boat. 

.  As  Gertrude  had  become  inseparable  from  her  friend  of  the 
storm.  Dr.  Gascoigne  invited  him  to  a  seat  beside  himself  and 
Utile  granddaughter,  and  the  two  men  were  soon  conversing 
like  old  acquaintances,  the  child  cuddled  between  them. 

Over  roads  not  the  smoothest,  they  went  jolting  along, 
cheerfully  catching  at  any  trifling  incident  serving  to  break  the 
monotony  or  raise  the  gay  laugh,  not  a  grumbler  to  be  found — 
they  from  the  start  vetoed. 

Eben  was  inclined  at  first  to  be  rather  cross,  but  Grandpa 
Gascoigne  held  him  in  check;  he  knew  how  sore  were  the  hearts 
of  his  motherless  girls,  and  he  did  not  intend  they  should  be 
unnecessarily  annoyed. 

Though  this  really  affectionate  father  meant  always  to  be  in- 
dulgent and  kind,  judging  from  his  standpoint,  which  was  that 
men  should  consider,  make  up  their  minds  and  act;  that  it  were 
unmanly  spending  time  trying  to  persuade  women,  w^ho  had 
only  to  acquiesce  in  any  arrangement  made,  without  argument 
or  comment,  he  did  not  realize  the  situation,  or  know  of  the 
secret  grief,  wearing  visibly' upon  each  of  these  so  dear  to  him. 


42  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

Eben,  with  more  modern  ideas  as  to  womanly  duties  and 
privileges,  and  also  as  regarded  a  man's  obligations  towards 
his  wife,  and  besides  understanding  the  real  difficulty,  was 
aware  that  an  injustice  had  been  perpetrated,  and  the  gentle, 
sensitive  nature  of  his  wife  outraged  beyond  repair. 

This  knowledge  disturbed  and  angered  him;  he  was  vexed 
with  himself,  but  the  manifestation  came  upon  others. 

Eben  had  become  thoroughly  disgusted  with  his  folly,. but 
was  too  proud  to  withdraw  from  the  entanglement  and  of  his 
own  accord  solicit  his  wife's  favor  and  confidence;,  his  unnat- 
ural position  irritated  him  extremely,  for  he  found  himself  in 
the  dilemma  of  caring  only  for  his  lawful  and  lovely  wife, 
while,  from  mere  stubbornness  at  the  last,  he  bestowed  persist- 
ent attentions  upon  another,  immeasurably  her  inferior  in  at- 
tractiveness; finally  his  annoyance  was  rendering  him  decidedlly 
disagreeable.  Even  Gertrude  noticed  the  changed  disposition 
of  her  dearly  loved  papa,  and  sometimes  shrank  from  his  ca- 
resses, filling  him.  with  chagrin ;  and  when  a  harsh  word  sent 
her  sobbing  to  her  mother,  he  was  still  more  angry. 

Only  for  the  soothing  influence  of  Grandpa  Gascoigne,  dis- 
tressing scenes  must  have  occurred  in  this  estranged  and  miser- 
able family;  such  a  slight  thing,  a  breath  of  unkindness  and 
mistrust  at  first,  can,  growing  and  gaining  strength  until  it  be- 
comes a  great  black  cloud,  fill  all  the  air  of  domestic  life  with 
sorrow  and  dismay. 

This  trouble  in  the  once  happy  family  of  Eben  Grieveau 
could  not  keep  brewing  without  attracting  other  eyes  as  sharp 
as  Dr.  Gascoigne's.  Aunt  Debby  Jones,  a  good-natured  woman 
who  came  w^ith  them  from  Barrytown,  thought  she  saw  some- 
thing amiss,  and  undertook  the  task  of  setting  matters  right. 

When  the  teams  halted  at  midday  she  went  around  where 
Eben  was  moodily  standing,  and  accosted  him  thus: 

"I  say,  Eben  Grieveau,  why  don't  you  go  over  there  and 
cheer  up  that  little  wife  of  yours  a  bit?  Anybody  can  see  she 
needs  it  bad  enough;  she's  the  patientest,  helpfulest  woman 
of  the  whole  lot,  always  doing  something  for  somebody,  but  I 
declare  to  it,  if  she  don't  look  like  she'd  left  her  heart  in  her 
mother's  grave.  And  Lucille,  too;  why  under  heavens  didn't 
that  beau  of  hers  come  along?  There  is  nothing  in  particular 
to  keep  him  in  Barrytown,  /know,  and  he'd  be  a  'nough  sight 
better  off  out  West.  If  he  ever  intends  to  stand  by  the  girl, 
now's  the  time,  I  should  say." 


IVHO   WERE   TO  BLAME.  43 

And  thus  the  well-meaning  but  injudicious  woman  spoke 
her  mind. 

Eben  felt  keenly  the  reproof,  but  as  nothing  could  be  said 
by  way  of  excuse  he  did  not  reply,  and  this  unwise  meddling 
brought  no  benefit. 

Aunt  Debby's  husband,  a  quiet  man,  as  unlike  as  possible  lo 
his  bustling  wife,  comprehended  her  blunder  in  exposing  a  care- 
fully concealed  wound,  and  remarked  impatiently: 

"  There,  now,  Debbv,  hope  you're  satisfied,  always  putting 
your  fingers  into  other  people's  pie,  and  only  getting  burnt  for 
your  pains.*' 

Gertrude  came  along  just  then,  and,  hearing  the  word  pie, 
aaid  eagerly,  "  I  want  a  piece  of  pie."  Her  childish  mistake 
and  Deacon  Jones'  remark  set  them  all  laughing,  and  good-na- 
ture was  restored,  if  not  peace.  Hastily  eating  their  luncheon 
without  the  pie — a  luxury  not  to  be  secured  until  at  their  jour- 
ney's end  they  could  have  their  Yankee  cooking-stoves  in  which 
to  bake  their  Yankee  pies — they  jogged  on  again. 

Just  at  sunset  they  came  in  sight  of  a  square  block-house,  or 
fort — old  Fort  Dearborn — near  the  shore  of  the  lake;  and  situ- 
ated on  either  side  of  a  sluggish  river,  whose  perfectly  flat,  low 
banks  seemed  scarcely  sufficient  to  hold  the  water  in  check,  a 
few  small,  mean-looking  houses. 

The  whole  country,  south,  west,  north,  being  flat  and  on  a 
level  with  the  immense  body  of  water  at  the  east,  there  seemed 
danger,  should  a  storm  arise,  that  houses,  fort  and  people  would 
be  swept  away. 

For  some  distance  back  from  the  shore  was  loose  sand — 
deep,  well-nigh  impassable  for  man  or  beast  —a  barren  waste  of 
sand. 

One  lone  tree  stood  near  the  mouth  of  the  river — a  scrub 
oak,  knarled  and  seamed  and  twisted — only  one ;  and  it  stood 
there  defying  every  vicissitude  and  change,  through  sunshine 
and  through  storm  alike — immovable^  though  the  rains  and  the 
winds  beat  upon  it  for  years  and  years;  stood  as  men  and 
women  sometimes  stand  and  battle  against  fate — against  the 
world ;  as  Gertrude  afterwards  stood  for  the  brother  then  un- 
born, against  the  ivhole  zvorld — battling  alone. 

After  the  sandy  waste  came  the  black  loam  of  the  prairie, 
and  if  there  has  ever  been  anything  darker  or  muddier  than  this 
prairie  loam  after  a  heavy  rain,  our  travelers  had  not  seen  it; 
neither  has  any  one  else  to  this  day,  unless  it  be  modern  scandal. 

As  the  storm  on  the   lake   had  been  accompanied  by  rain, 


44  THE  STALWARTS;    OR, 

there  was  a  surfeit  of  mud  in  Chicago,  also  plenty  of  mosqui- 
toes, and  of  course  no  end  of  Indians  at  that  early  day.  The 
new-comers  found  only  a  few  white  folks,  but  those  came  greet- 
ing them  so  heartily,  they  seemed  a  host. 

If  anybody  would  make  sure  there  exists  a  warm,  throbbing 
heart,  full  of  sympathy  for  his  fellows,  in  the  breast  of  man, 
let  him  go  into  a  new  country  and  he  will  be  convinced.  The 
people  will  tell  you  they  are  glad  to  see  you,  and  they'll  mean 
it,  and  prove  it,  too.  Although  many  things  about  the  country 
and  the  town  they  had  -reached  were  extremely  uninviting, 
there  was  much  that  was  pleasant  and  desirable. 

The  earnest  welcome  received  comforted  their  hearts;  the 
broadness  of  the  prairie  gave  a  free  sweep  of  air  especially  in- 
vigorating, calculated  to  banish  the  feeling  of  depression  and 
desolation  which  the  barren  flatness  at  first  inspired. 

After  getting  used  to  the  absence  of  trees  and  hills,  the 
extent  of  view,  the  ever-changing  color  of  the  green  expanse 
caused  by  the  shadows  of  the  shifting  clouds  overhead,  forced 
the  new-comers  into  conceding  that  a  flat  prairie  might  have  a 
beauty  of  its  own  not  elsewhere  to  be  found. 

And  the  sunsets  were  different  from  any  they  had  ever  seen 
— certainly  unexcelled  in  magnificent  glorv. 

And  the  lake — the  ever-changing,  rolling,  tossing  Michi- 
gan— was  a  continual  joy. 

Before  leaving  the  little  trading-post  which  has  since  be- 
come one  of  the  great  commercial  centers  of  the  world,  our 
friends  became  interested  in  the  village  and  attached  to  the 
people  as  they  scarcely  thought  possible  in  so  short  a  time. 

They  remained  but  one  week,  resting  and  making  inquiries 
as  to  the  wisdom  of  investing  in  the  swampy  little  town,  instead 
of  going  on  as  they  had  intended,  and  settling  in  the  rolling 
prairie  country  towards  the  north-western  portion  of  the  State 
of  Illinois. 

Several  of  the  party,  with  long-headed  calculation,  under- 
standing the  necessities  certain  to  result  in  making  this  trading- 
post  a  great  mart  of  commerce  and  enterprise,  decided  to  put 
their  money  into  the  black,  sticky  corner  lots  offered  them  at 
sums  too  small  to  be  believed  if  told,  and  they,  or  their  heirs,  if 
not  squandering  their  birth-right,  are  now  the  millionaires  of 
the  north-west;  but  the  majority  of  these  people  unwisely  con- 
cluded "  the  place  would  never  amount  to  much,  and  even  if  it 
did  they  wouldn't  live  in  the  nasty  mud-hole  for  any  considera- 
tion," and  they  left  their  golden  opportunity  behind  them. 


IV/IO   WERE  TO  BLAME.  45 

Our  "  aristocratic  movers  "  partially  deserted  their  wagons 
when  in  town,  and  stopped  at  the  only  hotel,  or  tavern,  as  it 
was  called — the  old  Lake  House — which  until  within  a  few 
years  was  left  standing. 

Everybody  called  to  see  them  during  their  short  stay,  and 
among  others  they  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  peculiar  man, 
who  had  before  been  a  pioneer,  and  as  he  was  about  returning 
to  the  place  they  were  going  to,  he  gladly  joined  them. 

You  will  like  him  when  you  know  him  well,  notwithstand- 
ing his  oddities,  as  our  travelers  did.    . 

Dr.  Gascoigne  and  the  congenial  companion  he  found  the 
story-teller  of  the  storm  to  be,  spent  the  few  days  of  their  stay 
in  Chicago  pleasantly  together,  and  a  bond  was  formed  which 
each  carefully  cherished  during  the  after  years. 

They  did  not  meet  again  for  a  long  time,  when  the  same 
spontaneous  kindness,  the  strength  and  originality  of  character, 
entranced  Dr.  Gascoinge  as  before;  and  towards  this  courteous 
gentleman  of  the  olden  time,  refined,  elegant,  white-haired,  a 
Frenchman  by  birth,  by  education  an  American — the  man  who 
had  then  risen  from  frontier  life  to  be  one  of  the  first  lawyers 
of  his  State — was  strangely  attracted — for  Dr.  Gascoigne  was 
one  of  those  who  draw  the  best' to  themselves  from  the  people 
with  whom  they  are  thrown. 

Leaving  the  village  and  their  friends  behind — except  the 
queer  man  before  alluded  to — our  party  started  once  more  on 
their  journey,  over  those  wonderful  prairies,  commencing  at 
Lake  Michigan  and  stretching  on,  broken  by  occasional  wood- 
bordered  streams,  to  the  great  Mississipi,  whose  broad  waters 
move  quietly  out  to  the  sea;  their  final  objective  point  being 
the  village  of  Freelawn,  situated  mid-way  of  this  vast  country, 
on  an  insignificant  river  bearing  the  Indian  name  of  Picka- 
tonica;  and  where  circumstances  occurred  culminating  in  events 
which  in  their  inevitable  sequence  moved  the  world,  and  with 
which  some  of  the  persons  mentioned  in  this  narrative,  especially 
Myra,  are  inseparably  connected. 


40  THE  STALWARTS  J  OR, 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    ARRIVAL    IN    FREELAWN. 


A  queer  individual  indeed  was  the  acquisition  of  our  party 
during  their  short  stay  in  Chicago.  From  an  impediment  of 
speech,  between  a  stutter  and  a  drawl,  he  had  been  dubbed  by 
the  nickname  of  "  Tutty,"  and  "  Tutty  "  Swanson  he  was  ever 
after  called.  But  if  talking  troubled  him,  seeing  did  not,  and 
what  Uncle  "  Tut"  failed  to  notice  was  of  little  account. 

It  happened  that  on  the  morning  of  leaving  Chicago,  he  ob- 
served Eben  Grieveau,  after  scolding  his  little  girl  until  she 
cried,  leave  his  w^agon  to  the  care  of  Dr.  Gascoigne,  while  he 
took  a  seat  beside  brother  John's  wife,  quite  fascinating  certain- 
ly in  her  way,  a  handsome  brunette  though  somewhat  coarse, 
surely  the  mouth  was  large,  the  lips  not  well  formed  and  of 
that  hard,  decided  cherry-ripe  color,  nothing  soft,  velvety  or 
sweet  about  them,  but  just  an  aggressive  bright  red. 

For  amusement  only,  to  pass  away  the  dreary  time,  came 
Eben,  thus  he  insisted  in  his  thought,  to  sit  and  chat  with  the 
brother's  wife,  for  he  could  not  converse  with  Myra,  as  neither 
were  able  to  think  when  together  of  anything  but  the  one 
trouble  which  had  separated  them — namely  his  heartless,  in- 
considerate conduct  in  planning  this  removal  without  so  much 
as  consulting  her  wishes  in  the  matter— and  which  lie  was  deter- 
mined to  ignore. 

The  brother's  wife  was  lively,  full  of  fun  and  animal  spirits, 
and  in  her  company  Eben  soon  forgot  his  discomfort. 

He  was  dissatisfied  with  himself,  and,  as  a  consequence,  with 
every  one  around  him  who  served  to  remind  of  the  unpleasant-* 
ness  which  existed. 

He  could  not  endure  Myra's  patient  sadness,  or  little  Ger- 
trude's clinging  way  with  her  mother,  or  Grandpa  Gascoigne's 
shielding,  protecting  manner  towards  his  girls;  Eben's  family 
life  was  becoming  unbearable,  and  he  persisted  in  looking  upon 
the  fictitious  instead  of  the  real  cause. 

From  a  beginning,  which  was  simply  asserting  his  just  pre- 
rogative, without  waiting  to  bother  by  explaining  every  reason 
which  influenced  him  to  the  women  folks — making  up  his 
mind  and  acting  upon  his  convictions,  as  he  had  a  perfect  right 


117/0  IVEKE   TO  BLAME.  47 

to  do — so  he  reasoned,  had  grown  this  complete  estrangement 
between  himself  and  wife  of  whom  he  still  believed  himself 
very  fond,  not  acknowledging  the  new  enchantment. 

How  easily  could  this  unwise  husband  have  bridged  the 
gulf  before  forever  too  late,  by  conciliating  and  if  necessary, 
treating  his  wife  with  more  than  ordinary  consideration;  but  he 
was  stubborn  and  would  not;  boasting  in  his  mind  that  he  had 
given  no  adequate  cause  for  the  coldness  which  he  could  feel  in 
spite  of  Myra's  effort  to  conceal  it.  He  had  chilled  her  love 
and  the  flame  was  burning  low.  He  had  hurt  her,  and  the 
wound  refused  to  heal,  and  as  the  woman's  despondency  in- 
creased, the  more  unkind  became  the  man.  For  such  a  nature 
as  Eben  Grieveau's,  brooking  no  opposition,  rebels  with  all  its 
force  against  the  slightest  manifestation  of  patient  suffering 
from  a  woman  whom  he  knows  he  has  wronged,  be  it  ever  so 
little. 

Women  think  quiet  gentleness  appeals  to  a  man's  chivalry, 
but  sometimes  they  are  mistaken;  for  one  who  would  deliber- 
ately wound  the  feelings  of  his  wife,  never  cares  very  much  for 
a  woman  who  allows  herself  to  be  stricken  down,  either  figura- 
tively or  actually.  When  men  lack  tenderness  they  are  sure  to 
be  cowards. 

Experience  proves  that  both  men  and  women  of  a  certain 
grade  treat  exacting,  tyrannical  partners  with  more  consideration 
and  respect,  often  seeming  to  love  them  better,  than  they  w^ould 
those  of  a  self-sacrificing  disposition. 

Sad  comment  upon  human  nature,  but  true  in  many  instances. 

And  thus  it  was  that  instead  of  being  drawn  together,  these 
two  were  thrown  assunder,  and  into  the  widening  breach  came 
another  who,  in  no  particular  of  person  or  character,  could 
be  favorably  compared  with  either. 

Julia  had  never  liked  her  husband's  sisters  over  well — she 
too  fully  realized  her  own  coarseness  in  contrast  with  their  re- 
finement— and  it  was  a  triumph  in  which  she  did  not  conceal  her 
pleasure,  that  the  handsome  husband  of  Myra  should  seek  her 
side  frequently  as  he  did  of  late. 

Her  own  consort  had  shattered  his  manhood  by  dissipation, 
and  was  in  no  way  satisfactory  to  her  now,  whatever  he  might 
have  been  when  they  were  married.  It  was  mainly  on  his  ac- 
count— hoping  to  change  the  current  into  which  he  was  fatally 
drifting,  by  getting  him  away  from  bad  associates — that  Dr. 
Gascoigne  had  undertaken  the  uprooting  of  his  own  life,  seeking 
a  home  in  the  far  west,  giving  up  those  comforts  to  which  he 


48  THE    STALIVARIS,    OK, 

had  been  accustomed  and  depriving  himself  of  needed  consola- 
tions in  his  old  age. 

As  we  have  said,  what  Uncle  Tut  failed  to  see  was  not 
worth  looking  after;  but  it  transpired  that  he  soon  discovered 
a  considerable  flirtation  going  on  between  Eben  G'*ieveau  and 
Julia  Gascoigne;  deciding  then  and  there  to  watch  their  maneuv- 
ers for  his  own  edification,  which  he  did,  with  astounding  results. 

Flirting  was  not  so  alarmingly  prevalent  in  those  days  as 
now,  but  was  a  pastime  occasionally  indulged  in  by  both  sexes, 
as  has  been  the  case  since  that  unlucky  day  when  the  wily  ser- 
pent beguiled  Eve  in  the  garden;  sly  old  mother  she,  telling 
Adam  they  were  only  eating  an  apple  together  and  cooly  in- 
vited him  to  take  some  too — no  wonder  the  race  has  gone  to  the 
bad  with  such  a  mother. 

Tutty  Swanson  and  Grandpa  Gascoigne  soon  became  fast 
friends,  although  as  unlike  as  it  is  possible  for  men  to  be. 

Uncle  Tut  was  short  and  thick  set,  with  stubbed  hands  and 
feet;  hands  that  had  done  many  a  hard  day's  work,  feet  that 
had  walked  many  a  mile.  His  broad  shoulders  were  surmount- 
ed by  a  small  bullet  head,  a  neck  he  was  supposed  to  have  but 
it  was  scarcely  preceptible;  the  little  round,  hard  head  was  cir- 
cled by  a  crop  of  short,  coarse,  straight,  reddish  yellow  hair 
just  turning  grey— not  the  soft,  silky,  auburn  locks  whose  gleam- 
ing waves  are  so  beautiful  and  rare,  but  the  carroty  yellow  which 
is  only  repulsive. 

Poor  Uncle  Tut  was  homely  to  the  extreme,  that  his  friends 
pitied  while  they  loved  him.  His  features  were  like  those  of 
the  famous  man  in  the  moon;  with  eyes  of  the  whitest,  dullest 
blue-grey,  utterly  stupid,  expressionless — blank — when  he  chose 
to  have  them  so,  which  was  whenever  he  did  not  intend  any 
one  should  know  what  he  was  at. 

When  no  one  was  noticing,  those  same  eyes  would  some- 
times give  a  sly  twinkle.  Uncle  Tut  had  also  a  peculiar  way 
of  chuckling  to  himself. 

But  this  twinkle  of  the  eye,  this  quiet  chuckle,  was  usually 
reserved  for  the  exclusive  satisfaction  of  the  man  himself,  not 
shared  with  another  except  upon  rare  occasions  with  a  specially 
favored  friend — some  one  in  whom  he  had  perfect  confidence. 
And  the  confidence  of  Uncle  Tut  was  not  easy  to  gain;  those 
of  his  acquaintances  who  had  been  allowed  to  participate  in 
the  peculiar  chuckle,  upon  whom  had  been  bestowed  one  of  the 
knowing  glances,  considered  themselves  favored,  and  that  not 
lightly. 


IV//0  WERE  TO  BLAME.  49 

Grandpa  Gascoigne  was  one  of  these — yes,  Grandpa  Gas- 
coigne,  the  elegant,  refined,  courtly  gentleman  that  he  was,  had 
already  come  to  regard  the  condescension  of  this  new  acquaint- 
ance as  an  honor  not  to  he  despised. 

For  Tutty  Swanson  if  an  ignorant,  uncultivated  man,  was 
shrewd  and  practical,  possessing  the  faculty  of  concealing  his 
ignorance  and  producing  the  impression  of  knowing  more  than 
he  chose  to  tell.  A  fool  often  passes  for  a  wise  man  by  keep- 
ing his  own  secrets;  but  Uncle  Tut  was  no  fool  either,  as  some 
people  found  out  in  the  end. 

Being  quick  to  see  and  hear,  if  not  to  speak,  he  soon  dis- 
cerned the  trouble  that  was  brewing  between  Eben  and  his 
wife,  and  having  a  tender  spot  in  his  heart  left  there  by  the 
memory  of  his  own  dead  wife  and  daughter,  all  the  sympathy 
of  his  rough  nature  went  out  towards  the  motherless  girls  of 
Grandpa  Gascoigne,  especially  to  Myra,  after  he  knew  her 
hard  lot. 

While  Eben  was  chatting  gaily  with  Madam  Julia,  Uncle 
Tut  had  noted  an  observation  for  future  reference,  and  when 
the  first  halt  was  made,  he  went  over  to  the  wagon  where  little 
Gertrude  was  still  grieving  at  the  unkind  treatment  she  had 
received,  and  her  mother  was  sadly  trying  to  comfort  her. 

Uncle  Tut  seated  himself  beside  Grandpa  Gascoigne  where 
he  could  look  occasionally  in  the  direction  of  Gertrude  and 
Myra,  and  commenced  talking  in  his  peculiar  style  about  the 
country  they  were  passing  over,  the  town  they  had  left  and  the 
place  to  which  they  were  going. 

He  had  been  out  the  year  before  and  entered  a  "claim";  his 
wife  and  daughter  having  succumbed  to  the  climate  and  the 
unaccustomed  hardships  during  the  summer,  and  soon  both 
dying,  he  felt  he  could  not  endure  the  loneliness  of  his  cabin 
life  after  they  were  gone,  and  had  returned  to  his  Eastern  friends 
hoping  to  find  consolation  with  his  old  neighbors;  but  he  grew 
more  and  more  restless,  until  finally  a  longing  for  the  wild, 
stirring  life  he  had  found  in  the  West  took  possession  of  and 
forced  him  back  again. 

Fortunately,  as  our  travelers  thought,  who  were  journeying 
to  the  same  section,  for  they  availed  themselves  of  his  invalua- 
ble experience  upon  more  than  one  occasion. 

He  was  most  excellent  company,  too,  for  if  it  was  difficult 
for  him  to  talk,  he  persisted  until  he  made  himself  understood — 
Lhe  impediment  he  suffered  from  seeming  to  arouse  his  com- 
bativeness. 


4 


50  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

And  just  now  Uncle  Tut  had  something  special  to  say  for 
Grandpa  Gascoigne,  besides  the  topics  of  general  interest  which 
have  been  alluded  to;  he  soon  commenced: 

"I  sa-say,  Mis-ter  Gascoigne,  you-your  con-con-founded 
son-in-in-law  we  must  be  looking  after  a-a-bit.  Th-that  Mis- 
tress Ju-Julia  Gascoigne  an-and  he  are  ca-carrying  on  to-to  beat 
all  dem-dem-na-tion."  • 

And  Uncle  Tut's  eyes  twinkled,  as  he  ended  with  his  char- 
acteristic chuckle,  but  this  time  he  added  a  dissatisfied  grunt,  as 
was  his  custom   when  angry. 

While  he  had  been  getting  out  this  sentence  his  eye  was 
fixed  upon  little  Gertrude,  and  he  now  reached  up  and  forward, 
beckoning  with  the  forefinger  of  his  upturned  palm,  until  he 
had  attracted  her  attention,  for  he  always  made  people  look  at 
him  too,  when  he  wished  to  have  them. 

The  little  one  scrambled  down  from  her  mother's  lap  and 
over  intervening  obstacles  until  she  reached  the  front  seat  where 
the  two  men  were  sitting,  where  she  crowded  herself  content- 
edly between  them.  Rough  and  uncouth  as  the  man  was,  he 
had  succeeded  in  winning  the  child's  affectionate  trust,  no  less 
than  her  grandfather's  confidence,  and  as  she  cuddled  close 
down  by  his  side,  he,  well  pleased,  placed  his  arm  around  her, 
continuing  the  conversation. 

Not  getting  any  further  special  attention  the  little  girl  finally 
volunteered  a  remark,  and  peering  up  quizzically  into  his  face, 
she  broke  in  abruptly,  "Say,  Uncle  Tut,  what  makes  your 
winkles  so  white  .?" 

The  two  men,  engaged  in  conversation,  failed  to  notice  the 
funny  question,  but  Gertrude  did  not  propose  being  put  off  with- 
out an  answer;  she  saw  something  strange  about  Uncle  Tut's 
eyes  and  wanted  to  know  w^hat  made  them  look  so  different 
from  other  people's  she  had  seen. 

Waiting  a  moment  she  commenced  again — "Uncle  Tut, 
what  makes  your  winkles  so  white  ?"  Still  no  reply;  and  the 
persistent  child  reiterated  her  question  at  intervals,  for  a  full 
mile  of  their  journey.  Securing  no  response,  she  at  last  snuggled 
her  head  down  in  his  lap,  and  sleepily  drawling  out  "win-kies- 
so  white  ?"  dropped  off  into  blessed  oblivion ;— and  to  this  day  she 
does  not  know  "juhy  Uncle  Tut's  "winkles"  were  so  white, 
neither  does  any  one  else. 

While  Gertrude  had  been  talking  herself  asleep,  the  two 
men  conversed  of  the  country  they  were  going  to,  the  climate, 
the  streams,  the  occasional  timber,  the  grand  expanse  of  rolling 


in/0   WERE   TO  J-ILAME.  51 

prairie  so  admirably  adapted  for  farming,  the  rare  springs  which 
were  considered  invaluable  by  the  owners  of  the  land  upon 
which  they  were  located — and  many  other  things  interesting  to 
a  newcomer. 

Homesick  Grandpa  Gascoigne  found  himself  cheered  and 
encouraged  by  the  glowing  account  Uncle  Tut  gave  of  all  he 
knew  about  the  land  and  the  people.  "You-'ll  find  every  th- 
thing  migh-ty  rou-ugh  and  like-ly  be  sot  ba-back  mor-morn 
wonst  by  some-thing  dif-er-ent  fr-from  what  you-you've  ex- 
pected, but  every  bo-dy'll  try  to  he-help  you  the  best  th-they 
know  how,=  and  after  a-awhde  you-you'll  find  you  could-n't  be 
he  hired  to  stay  East  of  Lake  Mi -Michigan,  if  you  under-take 
to  go  ba-back  as  I  did." 

The  morning  had  not  passed  so  very  unpleasantly  after  all, 
although  Dr.  Gascoigne  was  much  chagrined  by  the  hint  Un- 
cle Tut  had  thrown  out  as  to  Eben  and  Mistress  Julia. 

When  they  halted  for  dinner  and,to  feed  and  rest  the  horses, 
the  anxious  old  father  went  to  where  Eben  was<ilone,  and  lying 
stretched  full  length  upon  the  soft,  sweet,  green  sward,  under 
a  tree,  the  picture  of  easy  content,  but  really  seething  with  dis- 
satisfaction and  annoyance;  saying  to  his  son-in-law,  "Eben,  as 
a  true  friend,  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  warn  you  that  your  coldness, 
I  will  not  say  un kindness  towards  Myra,  coupled  with  the 
marked  attention  you  are  pleased  to  show  John's  wife,  is  already 
attracting  the  attention  of  our  fellow  travelers.  I  believe  you 
innocent  of  any  wrong  intention,  but  as  Myra's  father,  I  wish 
to  say  that  I  have  the  honor  of  my  daughter's  husband,  no  less 
than  my  son's  wife  at  heart,  and  cannot  quietly  see  things  go- 
ing on,  which  are  liable  to  detract  from  the  fair  name  of  either 
or  both.  Pardon  me,  Eben,  if  I  seem  to  meddle,  but  1  trust  a 
word  in  time  may  not  come  amiss  to  you." 

Eben  started  up  angrily,  and  answered,  "  Thank  you,  sir,  for 
your  interest  in  me,  but  I  desire  you  to  understand  that  I  am 
fully  competent  of  attending  to  my  own  business,  and  prefer 
doing  so  m  a  manner  that  suits  myself,"  and  the  irate  man 
stalked  ungraciously  away,  leaving  good  Dr.  Gascoigne  grieved 
and  astonished  beyond  measure  that  the  trouble  was  so  much 
worse  than  he  had  imagined. 

After  a  rest  of  an  hour  or  more  and  partaking  of  a  dinner 
as  palatable  as  could  be  asked,  everything  being  packed  snugly 
away  again,  they  started  and  jogged  along  as  before  until  the 
glorious  sunset  admonished  them  to  prepare  for  the  night. 

Gertrude  was  the  first  one  to  try  the  bed  made  for  her  in  a 


5?  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

far  corner  of  their  wagon,  close  by  mamma  and  grandpa,  where 
not  a  breath  of  wind  could  reach  her  should  a  change  of  weather 
occur  at  night  as  was  often  the  case  after  a  warm  day,  when 
the  cold  wind  and  rain  accompanied  by  heavy  thunder  and 
sharp  lightning  would  sometimes  wake  the  little  girl  from  her 
sound  sleep,  and  cause  her  to  creep  still  closer  into  her  dear 
mother's  arms,  no  harm  could  come  to  her  then  she  thought. 

These  rains  frequently  even  in  mid-summer  made  the  sticky 
prairie  loam  heavy  for  traveling,  and  in  places  exasperatingly 
near  together  there  were  the  deep  sloughs  which  never  dis- 
appeared in  the  dryest  weather,  and  were  at  times  almost  im- 
passable. 

For  this  reason,  principally,  emigration  was  timed  as.  near 
the  middle  of  the  hot  dry  season  as  possible,  and  the  dread 
which  a  "  mover  "  experienced  when  approaching  one  of  those 
swampy  sloughs  is  incomprehensible  to  us  who  now  rush  over 
these  same  prairies  whenever  convenience,  business  or  pleasure 
dictate  at  the  rate  of  forty,  fifty,  even  sixty  miles  an  hour. 

Our  travelers  of  only  a  few  years  back  were  just  one  month 
in  journeying  from  near  the  middle  of  southern  Michigan  to 
the  center  of  northern  Illinois,  and  their  trip  was  considered 
rapid  and  successful. 

The  day  we  have  described  was  a  sample  of  every  other, 
except  that  upon  several  occasions  they  found  themselves  stuck 
fast  in  the  mud  holes  of  the  sloughs  which  they  encountered, 
and  this  notwithstanding  all  their  care  in  attempting  to  cross 
safely.  Often  they  were  obliged  partially  to  unload  the  wagons, 
the  women  and  children  sitting  patiently  on  trunks  and  boxes, 
while  the  men  brought  rails  from  adjoining  fences  and  some- 
times horses  from  the  settlers  along  the  route,  who  willingly* 
assisted  those  asking  for  aid  in  any  emergency.  Sometimes 
hours  were  spent  in  prying  out  the  horses  and  wagons,  un- 
loading and  getting  under  way. 

They  had  one  of  these  experiences  on  the  afternoon  of  the 
last  day  of  their  journey,  just  in  sight  of  their  destination;  the 
village  only  hidden  by  a  bit  of  rolling  prairie,  and  there,  be- 
tween them  and  their  Mecca,  was  a  terrible  slough  which  must 
be  crossed. 

All  had  been  cheered  at  the  prospect  of  arriving  before  dark, 
and  having  plenty  of  time  to  look  around  and  prepare  for  their 
first  night  in  the  place  which  was  to  be  their  future  home. 

It  must  be  confessed  they  had  expected  their  arrival  would 
make  quite  a  sensation,  their  outfit  being  more  than  ordinarily 


WI/O  WERE  TO  BLAME.  53 

complete,  and  showing  at  a  glance  to  the  eye  of  the  western  set- 
tler that  no  trouble  or  money  had  been  spared  in  securing  every 
comfort  compatible  with  the  circumstance  of  moving  at  alf. 

In  this  case,  as  in  many  another,  when  success  seemed  as- 
sured, disappointment  came,  and  our  friends'found  what  had 
appeared  to  be  only  a  "soft  spot,"  as  inconsequential  sloughs 
were  termed,  one  of  the  very  worst  they  had  essayed  to  con- 
quer in  all  their  journey. 

Elated  at  being  so  near  the  end  of  their  tedious  travels,  they 
neglected  to  use  the  precaution  which  they  had  learned  to  be 
indispensible  in  crossing  one  of  those  diabolical  black  mud-holes. 

Uncle  Tut  warned  them,  for  he  knew  the  place  of  old,  but 
not  heeding,  they  drove  gaily  along  without  waiting  to  lighten 
the  load,  until  suddenly  down  went  the  horses  up  to  their  knees 
in  soft  slush  where  the  bottom  had  fallen  out. 

The  whips  were  applied  to  no  purpose,  hallowing  did  not 
help  the  matter  at  all,  either;  there  they  were,  at  three  o'clock 
the  last  afternoon  fast  in  the  mud.  What  wonder  if  every  man, 
woman  and  child  was  thoroughly  disgusted  and  exasperated. 

The  women  sat  on  the  unloaded  trunks  and  scolded  the 
children  and  cried;  the  men  lashed  their  horses,  and  one  or  two 
swore;  no  doubt  every  one  of  them  felt  like  it.  Eben  was  one 
of  those  who  refrained  from  sw^earing,  but  he  wished  in  his 
heart  that  he  had  never  started  from  Barrytown. 

At  last  sense  and  patient  reason  gained  the  supremacy,  the 
women  and  children  became  quiet  and  reconciled  to  the  situa- 
tion, the  men  unhitched  the  horses  and  pried  them  out  with  the 
rails,  also  the  wagon  wheels;  and  adding  fresh  teams  to  their 
own  jaded  animals,  with  combined  strength  and  effort  succeeded 
in  hauling  the  wagons  out  of  the  hole;  dragging  them  across 
by  a  slightly  different  route  from  the  one  they  had  at  first 
chosen,  the  people,  children  as  well,  being  obliged  to  walk 
across,  although  the  rains  of  the  night  before  had  rendered  the 
road,  if  such  it  might  be  designated,  very  "muddy."  The  men 
had  besides  to  carry  all  the  heavy  articles  of  baggage  across  as 
best  they  could. 

Just  at  nightfall  all  were  reloaded,  and,  tired,  wet  with  dew, 
which  fell  upon  them  as  they  waited,  bedraggled,  discouraged 
and  uncomfortable  beyond  description,  our  forlorn'  travelers 
came  into  the  small  village  of  twenty  houses  all  told — no  more 
— the  village  which  was  to  be  the  only  home  the  majority  of 
that  party  should  in  the  future  know — the  home  where  they 
were  to  live  and  from  which  they  were  to  be  buried. 


54  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

Imuiediately  when  it  was  known  that  some  "  movers  "  had 
arrived  from  the  east,  every  one  hastened  to  meet  and  welcome 
thems  And  this  means  they  took  them  to  their  houses,  to  their 
tables,  and  shared  with  them  their  beds^-that  they  opened  wide 
their  hearts,  their  homes  and  in  true  western  fashion  "  took  the 
strangers  in" — sharing  all  they  had  with  them. 

The  dreary,  homesick,  hungry  travelers  were  soon  provided 
with  food,  and  made  comfortable  for  the  night;  the  worn  horses 
were  not  forgotten. 

A  public  house  had  not  yet  been  built  for  the  accommoda- 
tion of  people  coming  to  this  new  town,  but  no  stranger  was 
allowed  to  feel  himself  such  for  very  long  among  the  genial 
settlers  of  those  early  days. 

Patiently  enduring  every  hardship,  carrying  many  heavy 
loads  of  sorrow,  our  fathers  and  mothers  labored  to  establish 
homes,  and  lay  the  foundation  of  our  present  prosperity. 

Although  the  exterior  sometimes  became  hard  and  rough, 
they  someho\v  kept  the  heart  tender  and  the  feelings  fine. 


WHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  55 


CHAPTER   VII. 


The  morning  after  their  arrival  in  the  httle  town  of  Free- 
lawn,  our  friends  were  out  early,  even  before  the  sun  had  dissi- 
pated the  fog  which  arose  dense  and  wet  from  the  broad  prairie 
as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  everywhere  covering  and  hiding 
from  view  the  green  expanse  beneath — wood-bordered  stream, 
farm-houses,  all  except  the  nearest  objects. 

It  was  a  strange  sight,  differing  from  any  they  had  ever 
seen  before,  imparting  the  feeling  of  having  gotten  above  and 
away  from  the  world.  As  the  sun  rose  in  the  Heavens  his  rays 
pen-etrated  the  clouds  of  mist,  until,  permeated  bv  a  rosy  hue, 
they  were  wafted  upward  on  the  morning  air  and  finally 
vanished. 

When  the  fog  lifted  from  the  landscape,  a  break  here  and 
there  revealing  the  verdure  below,  the  effect,  looking  off  over 
the  vast  prairie,  was  most  enchanting,  resembling  a  sea  dotted 
with  green  islands. 

Very  beautiful  was  the  poisonous,  malarial  fog,  and  deadly, 
as  our  friends  learned  to  their  cost.  The  old  settlers  cautioned 
them  against  again  indulging  in  such  early  rising:  "  You  must 
not  do  it,  you'll  have  the  ague  sure  if  you  do;  but  must  stay  in 
doors  night  and  morning  until  the  fog  is  gone.  It's  the  only 
way  for  new  comers  to  escape,  and  even  with  this  precaution 
you  may  have  it." 

Besides  the  beauty*  of  the  misty  sea  dotted  with  islands,  the 
suffering  of  the  ague  and  many  other  things  new^  to  them,  our 
friends  found  in  this  very  small  village  a  strange  medley  of 
people. 

There  were  a  few  ladies  and  gentlemen  whose  equal  can 
scarcely  be  met  with  even  now,  there  was  also  the  gossip  who 
meddled  with  everybody's  business;  the  rough,  uncultivated 
bore;  the  loud-mouthed,  sanctimonious  hypocrite,  who  thanked 
the  Lord  daily  that  he  was  not  as  were  other  men ;  the  dis- 
honest, pettifogging  lawyer;  the  doctor,  who  never  ought  to 
have  been  a  doctor;  all  the  discordant  and  disagreeable  elements 
to  be  found  in  older  and  larger  towns,  no  less  than  the  people 
capable  of  doing  wxll  iheir  part  and  whose  influence  was  help- 


5(j  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

ful,  improving  and  ennobling;  those  of  different  vocations  and 
degrees  of  refinement,  w^ho,  for  one  cause  and  another,  had 
seen  Hfe  in  the  communities  and  surroundings  they  had  left  to 
be  for  them  unprofitable  and  uncongenial. 

The  society  of  the  village  of  Freelawn  was  gathered  from 
miles  around,  and  on  Sunday  everybody  came  to  meeting;  it 
was  the  only  change  to  be  had  from  their  week-day  life. 

Before  the  Court  House  was  erected  these  meetings  were 
conducted  at  the  houses  of  one  and  another  of  the  more  respect- 
able and  comfortably  quartered  settlers,  among  whom  were  our 
friends  the  Gascoignes  and  Grieveaus;  after  that  they  were 
held  in  the  Court  House,  until  in  the  progress  of  events  a 
Methodist  meeting  house  was  built,  and  when  the  place  was 
recognized  as  old  and  established  a  Presbvterian  church,  then  a 
Baptist,  and  finally  a  very  high-toned  Episcopalian — "  The 
Church " — but  a  number  of  people  were  born  in  our  little 
village,  and  died,  and  went  to  Heaven  or  some  other  place,  be- 
fore *'  The  Church  "  came  along  or  its  clergyman  arrived. 

Ere  this  happy  consummation  of  church  building  and  a 
settled  ministry,  these  people,  who  had  been  accustomed  to 
regular  attendance  upon  religious  services  in  their  eastern 
homes,  uprooted  as  they  felt  themselves  to  be,  torn  from  old 
and  dear  surroundings,  would  not  willingly  have  dispensed 
with  the  comfort  derived  from  meeting  together — singing, 
prayincr  and  exhorting  one  another. 

Ofttimes  those  men  and  women  through  much  tribulation, 
developed  a  saintliness  of  character  which  we  search  for  almost 
in  vain  in  these  latter  days  of  frivolity,  worldliness  and  self- 
seeking. 

One  dear,  white-haired,  sweet-faced  woman,  our  motherless 
girls,  Myra  and  Lucille,  made  the  acquaintance  of  very  soon, 
who  from  the  hour  of  their  meeting  became  a  true  friend  to 
them — Mother  Brewster  she  was  called  throughout  all  that 
section.  In  a  short  time  after  their  arrival  both  Myra  and 
Lucille  were  attacked  with  chills,  and  immediately  Mother 
Brewster  was  on  hand  with  good  cheer  and  advice,  as  was  her 
custom  when  anybody  was  sick  or  in  special  trouble. 

Grief  weighed  heavily  upon  them  now  that  the  excitement 
of  the  journey  was  over,  and  had  much  to  do  with  their  falling 
an  easy  prey  to  the  malarial  climate. 

They  both  had  the  chills  regularly,  but  for  an  unaccountable 
reason  or  for  no  reason^  their  sickness  occurred  upon  alternate 


IVHO  WERE   TO  BLAME.  57 

days;  some  people  do  not  believe  in  Providence  but  little  Ger- 
trude did. 

"God  w^ill  keep  your  shakes  away  to-day,  Mamma,  it  is 
Aunt  Lucille's  turn,"  she  w^ould  say. 

It  seemed  hard  that  these  two  who  were  least  able  to  bear  it, 
and  were  sadly  tried  in  other  ways,  should  be  the  ones  to  have 
this  affliction. 

The  brother's  wife  was  never  stronger  or  happier  in  her  life, 
and  she  continued  her  desperate  flirtation  with  Eben,  partly  for 
the  excitement  and  the  spite,  but  also  because  she  really  liked' 
Myra's  handsome  husband  better  than  she  had  ever  any  one  be- 
fore, and  fully  as  much  as  her  selfish  nature  was  capable  of 
caring  for  any  one. 

Poor  Myra,  pale,  weak,  forlorn,  was  in  no  condition  to  com- 
pete for  her  husband's  favor  with  the  robust,  jolly,  red-lipped 
beauty;  for  a  beauty  she  would  be  called,  possessing  a  certain 
attractiveness  which  might  take  temporary  hold  of  a  man  dis- 
satisfied with  or  estranged  from  his  wife. 

And  Myra  did  not  act  the  part  of  wisdom ;  she  should  by 
every  means  have  concealed  her  coldness  from  her  husband; 
even  though  the  hurt  was  sore,  the  wound  deep,  she  should 
have  sedulously  kept  it  from  his  sight,  perhaps  after  a  time  it 
might  have  healed,  for  true  love  will  accomplish  wonders. 

At  any  rate  Eben  would  not  recognize  her  present  mood, 
and  had  no  patience  with  his  wife,  persisting  in  feeling  that  she 
was  changed,  refusing  to  acknowledge  he  had  given  any  real 
cause  for  the  estrangement. 

Long  years  after  as  he  looked  back,  remembering  her  piti- 
ful white  face  those  days  he  blamed  himself — oh!  how  bitterly! 

Myra's  mistake  was  in  brooding  over  her  grief  until  she 
lost  her  wonted  vivacity,  and  consequently  the  power  of  pleas- 
ing her  husband;  had  she  crowded  down  her  sensitiveness,  put- 
ting on  a  kind,  cheerful  air,  he  would  after  awhile  have  him- 
self realized  how  much  dearer  she  was  to  him  than  any  other, 
and  shown  his  regret  by  his  actions  if  not  in  words. 

Such  a  course  might  have  cured  the  disposition  for  straying, 
which  all  the  circumstances  of  the  case  now  encouraged. 

Men  being  fickle  and  prone  to  wander,  it  behooves  wives  as 
well  as  maidens  that  they  use  every  endeavor  in  keeping  any 
influence  they  may  have  over  those  they  love. 

Dissatisfied  husbands  and  lovers  then,  as  now,  had  no  difii- 
culty  in  coming  across  women  quite  ready  to  go  fully  half  way 


58  THE  STALW'AR'I S;    OK, 

\\\  pleasure  with  men  who  belonged  to  other  and  better 
women  than  themselves. 

Myra  learned  this  when  too  late. 

An  incident  here  occurred  which,  with  a  hint  from  Uncle 
Tut,  started  her  thinking  seriously  of  the  situation,  and  she 
determined  upon  going  about  the  business  of  regaining  her 
lost  place  in  her  husband's  heart  forthwith. 

This  is  how  it  came  about. 

Shortly  after  arriving  in  Freelawn,  finding  no  suitable  home, 
the  men  of  the  family,  with  the  help  of  a  carpenter,  an  old 
settler,  had  erected  a  comfortable  house,  also  a  shed  for  the 
horses,  and  completed  arrangements  for  living  through  the 
winter. 

The  building  being  store  and  dwelling  combined,  was  on  a 
corner,  giving  one  front  for  the  store  on  the  main  street,  and 
one  for  the  dwelling  which  was  a  continuation  built  on  the  side 
street,  less  traveled  than  the  other. 

The  goods  arriving  were  snugly  placed  upon  the  shelves  of 
the  store,  which  being  patterned  after  the  one  they  had  left  in 
Barrytown,  contained  everything  necessary  for  the  comfort  of 
man  in  the  line  of  merchandise. 

Grandpa  Gascoigne,  Eben,  Myra,  Lucille,  little  Gertrude, 
John  and  his  wife  Julia,  besides  Uncle  Tut,  took  possession  of 
the  new  home  with  thankful  hearts. 

Uncle  Tut  declared  he  could  not  live  alone  in  his  cabin,  even 
though  he  lost  his  "claim,"  and  he  had  become  so  helpful  in 
every  way.  Dr.  Gascoigne's  family  w^ere  very  glad  of  having 
him  with  them  through  the  winter.  In  the  spring  he  might 
feel  better  about  the  cabin  and  the  claim. 

Whenever  he  would  say  anything  about  going  away,  Ger- 
trude, putting  her  little  fat  arms  around  his  rough  old  neck,  and 
snuggling  her  curly  head  on  his  shoulder,  would  insist,  "she 
couldn't  spare  her  ovv^n  dear  old  Uncle  Tut,  not  a  bit." 

And  thus  Providence,  or  Fate,  ordained  that  he  should  re- 
main through  the  winter  with  his  friends,  a  decision  which 
changed  the  current  of  all  their  lives — the  affairs  of  a  great 
nation  as  well — a  decision  the  results  of  which  are  not  even  yet 
fully  foreseen. 

Myra  and  Lucille,  so  it  happened,  busied  themselves  with 
the  housework  and  the  care  of  the  child,  and  with  many  kind- 
nesses from  grandpa  and  Uncle  Tut,  who  were  not  so  busy  as 
John  and  Eben,  they  managed  to  accomplish  the  necessary 
work  between  them. 


IV//0   WERE   TO  BLAME.  5{> 

)ulia  being  the  well  and  strong  one,  volunteered  to  do  the 
washing  and  ironing.  She  said,  "she'd  rather  have  a  good  day's 
work  and  be  done  with  it,  but  could  not  endure  puttering  around 
all  the  time." 

The  fact  was  she  had  a  scheme  she  was  particularlyanxious 
of  carrying  out,  and  which  would  take  her  away  from  the 
kitchen,  where  Myra  and  Lucille  vv^ere  mostly  occupied,  and  in- 
to a  far  part  of  the  house.  About  this  time,  very  obligingly, ;  s 
a  cold  winter  was  prophesied,  Julia  offered  to  tie  some  comfort-, 
and  make  some  quilts  for  the  beds.  The  large  front  room  ov<  i^ 
the  store  not  being  much  used,  Uncle  Tut  sleeping  there,  but 
being  unoccupied  during  the  day,  this  place  by  mutual  consent 
was  devoted  to  the  quilting  and  tieing,  when  the  work  had 
been  suggested.  The  apartment  was  warmed  by  the  heat  from 
a  sheet-iron  drum,  connected  with  the  immense  box-stove,  large 
enough  for  holding  cord  wood,  being  in  the  store  below,  and 
by  the  pipe  passing  through  the  floor  into  the  drum  and  thence 
into  the  chimney  of  the  room,  producing  an  even  temperature 
night  and  day. 

In  this  secluded  spot,  away  from  the  noise  of  the  family, 
there  afterwards  occurred  illness  long  and  grievous,  nigh  unto 
death — even  death  itself — and  a  birth^  which  had  better  have 
been  a  death. 

A  memorable  room,  filled  with  sad,  gloomy  histories  con- 
nected with  never  to  be  forgotten  tragedies.  Alyra's  unhappi- 
ness  was  at  last  rendering  her  very  restless,  but  no  one  suspect- 
ed how"  much  she  was  suffering,  outwardly  she  remained  so 
calm,  so  sweet  and  patient. 

Even  Lucille  failed  to  notice  the  tempest,  the  whirlwind, 
the  tornado  of  passionate  longing  and  regret  which  was  rack- 
ing her  sister's  inmost  soul. 

Lucille  was  aware  Myra  did  not  take  kindly  to  their  new^, 
rough  life  any  more  than  did  she.  They  were  both  too  utterly 
disheartened  and  sick  much  of  the  time,  and  incidents  which 
would  have  amused,  had  the  sisters  been  well  and  happy,  now 
seemed  dreary  and  uncomfortable. 

Lucille  knew  Myra  talked  longingly  when  she  conversed 
at  all,  wiiich  was  seldom  now,  of  going  back  to  the  old  home 
and  to  the  friends  they  had  left,  but  she  had  no  idea  of  the 
turmoil  agitating  her  sister's  mind  and  heart.  Her  own  trouble 
absorbed  her  whole  attention,  and  perhaps  dulled  her  percep- 
tions. 

While  busy  with   her  work,   Myra  would  partially  forget, 


60  THE  STALIVARTS:   OR, 

but  a  delicate  woman  cannot  be  incessently  busy,  neither  will 
the  society  of  a  child  compensate  the  heart  for  the  idol  lost 
either  by  dethronement  or  death,  or  cure  its  utter  loneliness. 

Myra  felt  that  the  work  did  her  orood,  the  prattle  of  little 
Gertrude  was  a  relief,  but  there  were  times  when  all  failed  to 
subdue  her  unhappiness,  and  it  seemed  she  could  not  endure 
her  life  or  her  surroundings  another  moment.  She  sometimes 
feared  she  should  lose  control  of  herself — should  go  wild. 

As  she  wandered  from  room  to  room  looking  dejectedly 
from  the  windows,  she  was  conscious  of  an  almost  uncontroll- 
able impulse  to  spring  through,  and  fly  away — far  away — from 
all  the  trouble. 

She  longed  to  get  bank  to  dear  old  Barrytown  and  throw 
herself  upon  her  mother's  grave  and  w^eep  her  life  out  there. 

This  intense  desire  to  get  away  from  her  surroundings — to 
fly  away — anyivhere — only  to  get  away — was  increasing  until 
it  was  becoming  an  actual  torture. 

Myra  rarely  sought  her  husband's  presence  now,  and  he 
did  not  seek  her,  he  had  found  more  entertaining  companion- 
ship, at  least  for  the  time  being,  and  at  last  his  anger  and  re- 
sentment towards  his  wife  were  taking  the  form  of  antipathy. 

Marvelous  as  it  may  seem,  this  man  who  had  been  a  loving 
husband,  was  so  annoyed  by  his  wife's  persistent  sadness,  wdiich 
he  was  pleased  to  construe  as  a  reproach  to  himself,  that  really 
he  would  have  been  glad  never  to  have  seen  her  more. 

Her  wan  face  nettled  and  exasperated  him  beyond  measure, 
he  could  not  drive  her  from  his  mind  a  moment  except  when 
intensely  occupied  by  business  or  pleasure — because  he  still  loved 
his  wife,  and  knew  in  his  heart  he  was  not  doing  right  by  her, 
but  he  was  too  proud  to  yield  and  make  the  first  advances  to- 
wards a  reconciliation.  Little  did  he  realize  the  bitter  sorrow 
he  w^as  storing  up  for  himself  and  for  her,  by  his  unreasonable 
willfulness. 

Poor  Myra  did  not  understand  her  own  condition,  she  only 
knew  it  was  now  becoming  impossible  to  overcome  her  sadness 
and  restlessness,  strive  as  she  would — she  was  a  mystery  unto 
herself. 

If  she  could  have  appreciated  the  effect  of  all  she  was  pass- 
ing through — of  all  the  happenings — if  her  husband  had  been 
apprised  of  the  facts,  Fate  might  yet  have  been  cheated  of  her 
prey — but  ignorance  spoiled  lives  then,  as  ignorance  spoils  many 
a  life  to-day. 

The  fall  rains  were    now  rendering  the  roads  impassable,  at 


U'//0   WERE   TO  BLAME.  61 

least  for  women,  and  the  necessity  of  remaining  indoors  had 
increased  Myra's  nervous  irritation  ahnost  tothe  pitch  of  frenzy. 
She  u^as  at  hist  losing  self-control,  and  Lucille  was  surprised 
at  the  unusual  harshness  several  times  manifested  towards  little 
Gertrude.  Soon  Myra  must  have  developed  symptoms  which 
would  have  aroused  the  family  as  to  the  state  of  her  health, 
and  a  dire  calamity  and  the  grief  of  a  lifetime  might  possibly 
have  been  prevented. 

But  just  here  an  unlooked  for  occurrence  brought  her  con- 
dition to  a  crisis,  and  changed  the  whole  situation. 

Of  course  the  quilts  and  the  comforts  at  which  Julia  was 
working  industriously,  must  be  marked,  which  was  done  with 
a  chalked  cord  held  by  two  persons  one  on  either  side  of  the 
frames,  holding  tightly,  and  when  all  was  ready  in  place,  one 
.  lifting  the  cord  and  letting  it  fall  suddenly,  a  mark  would  be 
left  for  the  guidance  of  the  stitches. 

Uncle  Tut  noticed  that  Mistress  Julia  often  came  down  in- 
to the  store  for  Eben  to  go  up  and  help  mark  her  quilt; 
sometimes  a  rap  on  the  floor  would  be  her  signal,  and  that 
Eben  seemed  ready  at  any  moment  to  leave  what  he  was  do- 
ing and  obey  her  call,  and  he  did  not  hurry  back  either. 

One  day  Eben  was  gone  so  long  that  Uncle  Tut  thought 
he'd  go  up  to  his  room  and  change  his  coat — while  he  took  an 
observation;  opening  the  door  without  knocking,  (for  why 
should  he  knock  at  his  own  door?)  he  surprised  the  marker, 
"taking  toll"  from  the  quilter  over  the  frames. 

The  lips,  yes — brow,  cheeks,  neck  of  the  red-ripe  beauty 
were  even  redder  than  usual,  w^hen  Uncle  Tut  opened  the  door— 
so  were  those  of  Myra's  husband. 

Eben  got  himself  downstairs  to  his  work  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible, neither  of  the  men  saying  a  word,  and  Eben  entirely  in 
doubt  as  to  whether  a  discovery  had  been  made  or  not. 

Uncle  Tut  had  seen  enough  to  cause  alarm  as  to  the  state  of 
affairs  between  Eben  and  Mistress.Julia,  and  made  up  his  mind 
he'd  do  a  little  scheming  himself,  and  if  necessary  give  Myra 
a  hint,  perhaps  also  Grandpa  Gascoigne,  before  it  was  too  late 
for  reclamation. 

He  contrived  after  this  to  have  Gertrude  in  the  quilting 
room  as  much  of  the  time  as  possible,  upon  the  pretext  of  its 
being  a  nice,  warm  place  for  her  to  play,  now  that  the  weather 
and  the  ground  were  unfit  for  her  to  be  out  of  doors,  but  Uncle 
Tut  kept  an  eye  out  and   was  getting   more  worried  every  day. 


<52  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

He  had  lately  found  Myra  several  times  wandering  alone 
f lom  room  to  room,  looking  strangely,  he  thought,  gazing  with 
an  expression  almost  desperate  through  the  windows,  over  the 
broad  and  now  dreary  prairies,  which  stretched  as  far  as  the 
eye  could  reach;  and  once  or  twice  he  had  seen  her  throw  up 
her  arms  suddenly,  press  her  hands  convulsively  upon  her  head 
and  rush  from  the  window  with  a  cry,  almost  a  shriek,  away 
into  another  room,  far  from  the  family. 

Said  Uncle  Tut  at  last  to  himself:  "I'll  speak  to  so?nebody 
this  very  day,  to  Grandpa  Gascoigne  or  to  Lucille,  perhaps  to 
Eben."" 

But  he  had  come  to  dislike  Eben  so  thoroughly,  he  could 
not  endure  to  talk  with  him  about  anything,  much  more  such 
a  matter. 

Finally  he  concluded,  "I'll  give  Myra  just  a  hint  and  let  her 
manage  her  husband  as  she  thinks  best."  And  Uncle  Tut 
taxed  his  brains  for  another  day  as  to  how  he  should  commun- 
icate in  such  a  manner  as  to  shock  Myra  as  little  as  might  be 
what  he  wanted  her  to  know,  namely,  the  danger  she  was  in 
of  losing  her  husband  absolutely,  unless  something  was  done  to 
break  up  the  intimacy  between  himself  and  Mistress  Julia. 

After  all  the  delay  and  cogitation,  when  he  did  tell  her  it 
was  in  the  clumsiest  manner,  abruptly,  without  immediate  in- 
tention of  doing  so;  exactly  as  people  nine  times  out  of  ten 
approach  a  delicate  subject. 

He  had  made  an  errand  up  to  his  room,  where,  as  often  be- 
fore, Eben  and  mistress  Julia  were  having  a  gay  time  laughing 
and  chatting  (to  say  nothing  of  anything  worse)  over  the  mark- 
ing and  the  quilting;  coming  down  exasperated,  he  was  yet 
more  annoyed  at  finding  Myra,  who  had  just  finished  her  morning 
work,  sitting  listlessly,  tired,  pale  and  half  sick,  her  hands  folded 
hopelessly  in  her  lap,  and  tears  falling  quietly  from  those  sweet 
violet  eyes. 

Not  one  word  of  repining  had  she  uttered  through  all  her 
sorrow;  she  was  too  heart-broken  for  complaint.  As  Uncle 
Tut  looked  upon  the  dear  little  woman  he  felt  like  shooting 
somebody,  but,  instead,  he  marched  up  in  front  of  Myra  and 
stammered  out:  "I — I  say,  Myra — Grie — Grieveau, — quit  that, 
an — and  go  up  and  lo-look  after  that  hus-band  o'  yo-yourn;" 
and  off  he  went,  knowing  that  at  the  last  he  had  blundered  and 
stumbled  head  foremost  into  the  hidden  trouble,  making  matters 
even  worse  than  they  were  before. 


ll'I/O  WERE  TO  BLAME.  63 

Alas!  that  Uncle  Tut  had  not  realized  the  extent  of  the 
mischief  he  was  doing,  for  his  thoughtless  precipitation  may 
surely  be  blamed  that  a  beautiful  life  was  wrecked,  destroyed; 
yes,  more  than  one,  more  than  two — many  more — before  the  end 
was  reached. 

At  first  Myra  was  bewildered  by  Uncle  Tut's  strange  speech. 
She  had  not  believed  her  husband  really  cared  for  the  society  of 
such  a  coarse-grained  woman  as  she  knew  her  brother's  wife  to 
be;  she  had  never  suspected  his  honor  or  doubted  his  truth;  she 
had  hoped  that  eventually  he  would  be  touched  by  her  patient 
sadness,  and  that  somehow  they  would  be  reconciled;  would 
understand  each  other,  and  be  once  more  happy  as  they  had 
been  before  the  dreadful  estrangement.  She  knew  Eben  neg- 
lected her,  and  spent  more  time  chatting  with  Julia  than  he 
■ought,  but  the  thought  that  her  husband  would  desert  her  for 
another  had  not  entered  her  mind.  And  such  another! — utterly 
heartless  and  frivolous,  not  to  say  unprincipled — perhaps  im- 
moral ! 

The  blow  was  crushing,  and,  coming  unexpected!}-,  nearly 
took  away  her  breath;  but  as  a  hard  fall, a  hurt  on  the  head,  or  a 
severe  shock,  to  an  insane  person  will  sometimes  restore  reason 
when  all  else  fails,  so  Uncle  Tut's  abrupt  hint  had  the  effect  of 
bringing  Myra  to  her  senses,  and  she  resolved  to  put  away  her 
-despondency,  giving  her  whole  and  immediate  attention  to  the 
object  of  regaining  her  lost  place  in  her  husband's  affections. 

Leaving  Gertrude  in  charge  of  Aunt  Lucille,  who,  after  having 
passed  through  the  ordeal  of  a  chill,  was  feeling  somewhat  bet- 
ter now  that  the  fever  was  coming  on,  but  not  at  its  height, 
Myra  acted  upon  Uncle  Tut's  advice,  and  betook  herself  to  the 
quilting-room  without  delay. 

It  was  a  terrible  mistake — weak,  heart-sick,  worn  woman — 
she  overestimated  her  strength  sadly  when  she  essayed  to  go  up 
for  her  recreant  husband. 

Her  only  thought  was  that  something  she  loved  more  than 
her  life  was  drifting  away  from  her  arms,  beckoned  on  by  a 
*'  will  o'  the  wisp  "  as  false  as  it  was  alluring. 

Save  her  husband  she  must  at  any  hazard;  she  would  go 
directly  to  the  room  where  she  knew  the  red-lipped,  unprin- 
cipled siren  was  busy  weaving  her  charms  about  him,  and, 
making  some  excuse,  get  him  to  come  down  w-ith  her,  and 
henceforth  she  would  devote  every  energy  of  her  life  to  her 
husband's  pleasure;  he  should  lack  for  nothing  in  the  power  of 
woman  to  bestow. 


64  THE  STAUVAKl S;   OR, 

How  bitterly  now  she  blamed  herself  for  her  cold,  exacting- 
reserve;  that  she  had  not  ignored  self  entirely;  abnegated  her 
own  personality,  if  need  be,  in  the  effort  to  retain  her  husband's 
love.  She  knew  now,  when  she  feared  it  might  be  too  late, 
that  she  had  not  understood  a  man's  nature  more  than  ahd  he 
a  woman's,  that  the  mischief  was  indeed  beyond  repair. 


lVJ/0  WERE  TO  BLAME. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


MVRA  S    DISCOVERY 


Myra's  imagination  had  not  pictured  what  her  eye  beheld 
through  that  opened  door — her  own  husband,  her  Hfe's  darhng, 
his  arms  around  another  woman,  his  lips  pressed  to  hers! 

Unhappy  ]Myra — one  moment  she  stood  spell-bound — then 
fell  headlong  upon  the  floor — not  a  sound,  not  a  moan  escaped 
her,  she  lay  as  one  dead. 

Instantly  Eben  disengaged  himself,  more  angry  than  he 
could  express  that  his  wife  should  have  discovered  his  folly. 
He  lifted  her  in  his  arms  and  placed  her  on  Uncle  Tut's  bed. 

Both  Mistress  Julia  and  himself  hastened  to  use  every  known 
means  for  the  restoration  of  the  wronged  woman  to  concious- 
ness.  At  last  she  breathed,  she  opened  wide  her  beautiful  eyes, 
but  stared  vacantly  in  her  husband's  face. 

Overtaxed  in  body,  distressed  in  mind  as  she  had  been  for 
months  past,  having  besides  the  unfavorable  climate  to  contend 
with,  and  more  than  all,  a  dear,  sweet,  cherished  secret  which 
only  mothers  can  understand,  and  which  she  had  carefully  con- 
cealed, even  from  her  husband,  feeling  in  oversensitiveness  that 
he  did  not  care  for  her  now,  but  hoping  by  a  glad  surprise  to 
win  him  to  her  side  again;  overburdened  little  woman,  what 
wonder  if  heart,  strength,  life,  failed  her. 

For  weeks  and  months  after  that  day  those  vacant  eyes 
when  they  opened  at  all,  only  stared  reproachful  from  their 
sunken  sockets,  while  the  thin  lips  muttered  in  delirium  of 
things  which  no  one  but  the  guilty  husband.  Mistress  Julia,  and 
Uncle  Tut  could  comprehend.  Eben  and  Julia  vied  with  each 
other  in  their  ministrations.  Grandpa  Gascoigne,  sister  Lucille 
and  John  were  surprised  and  thrown  off  their  guard  by  the  un- 
expected devotion  displayed  on  the  part  of  those  heretofore 
deemed  incapable  of  deep  affection,  and  regretted  the  supposed 
unjust  estimate  of  their  characters  in  times  past;  especially  did 
John  blame  himself,  thinking  he  had  not  fully  appreciated  his 
wife;  for  long  before  the  project  of  moving  west  was  broached- 
she  had  come  to  be  regarded  by  him  as  the  embodiment  of  self- 
ishness and  heartlessness. 

He  had  been,  when  very  young,  thrown  in  her  way  and  cap- 

5 


66  THE  STA-Ll'VARTS;  OR, 

tivated  by  the  pronounced  though  decidedly  animal  style  of 
beauty,  married  hastily,  neglecting  consultation  with  his  father 
and  sisters;  the  mask  was  soon  dropped,  the  illusion  roughly 
thrown  away,  and  the  young  husband  found  in  the  place  where 
should  have  been  a  wife  tender  and  true,  a  loud-voiced,  heart- 
less, exactingly  selfish  woman,  one  of  those  who  care  for  a 
husl3and  but  as  a  provider  for  their  wants. 

He  being  of  the  same  fine  nature  which  his  sister  possessed, 
inherited  from  both  parents,  soon,  from  having  his  sensibilities 
daily  shocked,  became  reckless,  dissipated  and  hopeless;  a  tithe 
of  the  man  he  should  have  been,  and  was  now  fast  becoming  a 
besotted  drunkard,  health,  ambition,  self-respect  almost  gone. 

But  at  the  perception  of  apparent  goodness  in  his  wife 
which  perhaps  had  been  overlooked,  he  was  ready  to  take  her 
lovingly  in  his  arms,  trying  once  more,  and  be  a  man  worthy 
of  a  true  woman. 

Although  a  mischief  had  accrued  for  w^hich  no  earthly 
power  could  now  find  a  harmless  remedy;  naught  but  the  death 
of  an  unborn  babe  could  checkmate  Fate,  and  it  v/as  forever  too 
late  for  the  cure  of  all  the  evil  which  had  resulted  from  the  sad 
mistakes;  yet  just  here  was  a  place  in  the  lives  of  this  badly 
mixed  family,  where,  had  they  gotten  hold  of  the  true  end  of 
the  tangled  thread,  the  gordian-knot  might  have  been  untied, 
the  skein  of  their  destiny  unravelled,  the  broken  woof  reunited, 
and  a  garment  of  beauty,  the  work  of  sweet  charity,  woven 
from  their  daily  lives,  gently  covering  from  view  the  past, 
lovingly  enfolding  the  present,  bestowing  comfort  and  peace 
instead  of  the  sorrow  to  all,  the  remorse  to  those  in  the  wrong 
which  was  coming  irretrievably  upon  them. 

Repentance,  restitution,  prayer  unceasing,  might  have  lifted 
prostrate  Myra  from  her  sick  bed,  and  possibly  brought  the 
good  angels  to  bear  the  little  shattered  life  tenderly  away  in 
arms  of  love  to  its  Paradise  home,  where  restoration  comes  to 
all  w^ho  desire  the  attainment  of  that  purity  and  goodness  of 
which  misfortune  or  inheritence  has  defrauded  them  here. 
Restoration — Paradise — Joy — to  the  innocent  unborn  babe,  and 
to  those  who  meekly,  trustingly  as  little  children  enter  in, 
patiently  waiting  until  Christ  shall  send  to  their  sin-sick  souls 
His  ministering  spirits — Chastisement — Purgatory  —  knashing 
of  teeth,  to  those  who  defiantly  ignore  the  true,  the  right,  the 
just,  seeking  their  own  aggrandizement. 

The  Lord's  helpful  angels  coming  evermore  alike  to  the  just 
and  to  the  unjust  at  repentant,  suffering  humanity's  call,  coming 


WHO   WERE   TO  BLAME.  67 

in  answer  to  prayer;  for  prayer  is  to  blessing  what  the  burstmg 
longing  in  the  heart  of  the  bud,  bound  tightly  leaf  by  leaf  in 
waxen  coldness,  is  to  the  sun  benignantly  waiting  ready  to  im- 
part warmth  and  comfort,  while  the  imprisoned  bud  strives  to 
absorb  its  invigorating  beams;  until,  at  last,  penetrated  by  the 
blissful  life-o^iving  rays,  bursting  forth  in  eager  aspiration,  leaf 
by  leaf  is  unfolded,  expanded,  giving  back  hues  rich  in  the 
radiance  of  glowing  happiness;  and  thus  are  both  filled  w^ith 
ineffable  joy,  for  it  is  even  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive. 

But  the  desire  must  precede  benediction,  mark  the  injunc- 
tion, "Ask  and  ye  shall  receive." 

No  man's  prayer  can  darken  the  sun,  or  cause  the  rain  to 
fall  perhaps,  the  Ruler  of  the  Universe  chosing  good  for  the 
whole  creatiop,  as  seemeth  best,  but  special  need  causes  special 
asking,  and  special  disease  requires  special  treatment — hence 
prayer  as  a  means  of  benefit — prayer!  w^hereby  even  the  be- 
hests of  Fate,  the  edicts  of  destiny  may  be  overruled. 

Uncle.  Tut,  with  his  unfathomable,  know-nothing  grey-eyes, 
saw  all  that  was  going  on,  and  knew  what  it  meant,  but  earn- 
estly as  he  longed  to  set  matters  right,  he  felt  himself  unable, 
and  a  Higher  Power  he  did  not  invoke.  Prayer  w^as  not  in 
his  creed,  the  thought  w^as  to  him  incomprehensible. 

And  the  stoney  mill  of  Fate  kept  grinding,  round  and  round, 
a  steady,  slow,  but  sure  and  unrelenting  grind. 

The  one  thing  which  Uncle  Tut  could,  and  did  do,  was  to 
tend  by  Myra's  bed-side  constantly — literally  night  and  day, 
dozing  occasionally  in  the  old  fashioned  straight  backed  rocking 
chair  Myra  had  brought  from  the  Eastern  home. 

Eben  and  Mistress  Julia  were  not  more  vigilant,  much  as 
they  feared  exposure  from  Myra's  delirium. 

Fortunately  for  them  it  was  mainly  of  the  low,  muttering 
kind,  in  which  words  can  only  be  distinguished  with  the  greatest 
difficulty.  A  person  not  knowing  what  was  in  her  mind,  could 
not  understand  her  at  all;  but  Eben  knew  and  Mistress  Julia, 
and  Uncle  Tut,  although  h«  kept  so  still. 

Poor  Myra  lay  now  day  after  day,  with  shaven  head  drawn 
back  deep  into  the  crushed  pillows — shorn  of  all  those  rippling 
waves  of  golden  brown  hair,  her  eyes  closed,  half  open  or  star- 
ing vacantly,  sometimes  appealingly,  then  again  wildly,  the 
thin,  parched  lips  muttering  so  pitifully,  so  low,  only  they  could 
understand : 

"My  darling,  oh!  my  darling!  how  could  you  do  it?  Hoiv 
could  you  do  it  .^" 


68  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

"Come  back  to  me,  husband  dear,  I'll  be  so  good,  I  really 
will,  if  you'll  only  come  to  me." 

Then  opening  wide  her  glassy  eyes,  raising  her  trembling 
hands,  white  and  wan,  reaching  for  his  face,  she  seemed  to  be 
stroking  it  tenderly,  muttering;  "Eben,  dear,  Myra's  sorry  she 
vexed  you,  Myra'll  be  good,  Myra  loves  you — just  the  same." 

And  then  in  a  sudden  frenzy,  raising  herself  with  unlook- 
ed  for  strength,  trying  to  strike  an  imaginary  foe,  screaming 
now  in  wild  fury,  "Get  away  you  serpent!  She's  got  her  coils 
around  him,  her  fang  is  on  his  throat.  Take  her  away — she'll 
drink  his  blood!  Take  her  away — he's  mine — he's  mine!  Let 
me  kill  her — let  me  kill  her!" 

And  falling  back  exhausted  into  the  strong  arms  of  Uncle 
Tut  or  Grandpa  Gascoigne,  or  of  her  sorrowful  husband,  who 
had  each  or  all  been  trying  to  hold  her,  she  would  sink  again 
into  a  stupor,  breathing  heavily  with  half  shut  eyes,  and  shaven 
head  drawn  back  d^ep  into  the  wet  pillows. 

These  attacks  of  frenzy  were  rare,  and  came  when  they 
thought  her  better,  and  she  seemed  almost  to  know  he7'  attend- 
a7its.  Those  who  were  aware  of  what  was  in  her  mind,  noticed 
that  they  occurred,  if  at  such  times  her  eyes  settled  upon  Mis- 
tress Julia,  and  she,  guilt  stricken,  learned  to  keep  out  of  the 
sick  woman's  sight,  fearing  an  outbreak. 

Twice  during  this  long,  memorable  illness,  Myra  seemed  to 
rally,  and  then  a  relapse  would  come,  discouraging  those  w^ho 
loved  her  so  well — but  not  once  did  she  regain  her  reason — not 
until  the  sad  wail  of  a  little  new  born  babe  was  heard  in  that 
chamber,  where  the  mother  had  lain  so  long  prostrate  in  the 
valley  of  the  shadow  of  death — in  the  shadow,  but  not  over- 
come— for  not  yet  was  her  mission  fulfilled. 

The  little  boy-baby  was  tenderly  cherished,  day  by  day,  his 
feeble  life  watched  over,  and  the  flickering  flame  gently  fanned 
into  a  stronger,  steadier  glow,  for  was  he  not  to  fill  the  place  of 
the  first-born,  the  dearly  loved  one,  whose  grave  they  had  left 
behind  nearly  a  year  ago? 

Even  Eben  was  proud  and  elated  at  the  thought  of  another 
heir  to  bear  his  name,  and  his  heart  warmed  with  somewhat  of 
returning  affection  towards  his  broken  wife.  Had  Myra  re- 
covered rapidly,  regaining  her  former  health  and  buoyancy  of 
spirit — chief  among  the  charms  which  had  first  attracted  him — 
Eben  might  have  been  entirely  weaned  from  his  new  fancy, 
perhaps,  but  she  remained  in  that  sick  room  nearly  a  year,  and 
there  are  few  men  whose  fidelity  can  endure  such  a  test. 


IVHO   WERE  TO  BLAME.  69 

After  the  novelty  of  the  new  baby  wore  off,  and  Myra  still 
continued  an  invalid,  both  wife  and  child  requiring  much  care, 
he  began  to  consider  his  visits  to  the  sick  room  as  annoying  epi- 
sodes in  his  daily  life.  Soon  they  were  so  far  apart  as  to  cause 
remark  from  the  members  of  the  family,  and  finally  from  the 
gossips  of  the  little  town. 

As  for  Myra,  she  had  been  near  deatJi's  door,  and  could 
now  be  reconciled  to  life,  even  though  accompanied  with  sor- 
row and  much  tribulation. 

From  the  day  she  had  seen  another  woman  in  her  husband's 
arms,  her  heart-strings  had  loosed  their  hold  of  him — she  did 
not  fully  realize  this,  but  such  was  the  fact. 

The  babe  being  very  delicate,  absorbed  her  attention,  and 
the  poignancy  of  grief  gradually  wore  away,  although  at 
times  her  love  struggled  with  terrible  violence  for  the  possess- 
ion of  its  lost  idol. 

If  she  could  have  filled  the  vacancy  as  men  do  with  another 
object,  it  would  have  eased  her  suffering,  but  she  could  not; 
even  the  devotion  she  felt  for  her  children  failed  to  close  the 
gaping  wound  in  her  sore  heart — nothing  can  compensate 
a  true  woman  for  a  lost  love. 

Little  Gertrude's  quiet,  gentle  ways,  and  her  cheerful 
prattle,  were  much  company  and  comfort  to  her  lonely  mamma. 
Sister  Lucille  was  her  attendant  and  constant  companion,  but 
not  even  to  her  did  this  loyal  wife  confide  what  she  had  seen 
on  that'day,  when  the  whole  family  had  qeen  summoned  to  her 
bedside,  scarcely  leaving  it  for  weeks  and  months  after.  What- 
ever her  husband  might  do  or  leave  undone,  his  wife  would  not 
betray  him ;  with  her,  come  weal  or  woe,  his  secret  should  be 
safe. 

Myra,  as  does  many  another  heart-broken  mother,  clung  to 
life  for  her  children's  sake.  She  tried  steadfastly  to  overcome 
her  weakness,  and  lived  on  for  a  time,  growing  lovelier  each 
day,  to  all  who  knew  her;  especially  to  the  sad  old  father,  Lu- 
cille and  Gertrude,  the  memory  of  her  last  days  on  earth  was 
as  the  dream  of  an  angel's  presence. 


70  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 


CHAPTER  IX. 
myra's  strange  condition — eben's  trouble. 

While  Myra  was  confined  a  close  prisoner  all  those  weary 
months  in  the  seclusion  of  her  chamber,  the  world  outside  did 
not  cease  from  moving  on.  Many  changes  occurred  in  the  vil- 
lage, new  people  kept  coming,  several  houses  were  erected  and 
every  living  thing  was  stirring  in  this  growing  western  town. 

One  of  the  questionable  improvements  was  the  establish- 
ment of  a  grocery  for  the  sale  of  liquors,  containing  also  a 
drinking  bar,  on  the  corner  just  above  Eben's  store,  he  .dealing 
only  in  general  merchandise. 

Dr.  Gascoigne  had  been  appointed  post-master,  and  the  idea 
of  putting  up  a  Court  House  was  being  broached.  A  tavern 
or  hotel  had  been  actually  built;  one  of  the  long,  wide  upper 
rooms,  ordinarily  containing  a  dozen  or  more  beds  for  the  ac- 
comm.odation  of  travelers,  could,  when  occasion  required,  be 
turned  into  a  ball-room,  and  the  sitting  room  upon  the  first 
floor  was  used  on  Sundays  for  holding  the  meetings  before 
mentioned ;  a  needed  convenience  most  surely  was  the  tavern. 

When  the  stage,  drawn  by  four  horses,  even  six,  driving 
up  to  the  front  with  a  flourish  of  long  whip  and  loud  tin  horn, 
after  leaving  the  great  leathern  mail  bag  with  Dr.  Gascoigne 
at  the  post  offlce,  the  passengers  alighting  upon  the  broad  tavern 
stoop,  all  the  people  of  Freelawn  felt  that  they  were  the  inhab- 
itants of  quite  a  town. 

Gertrude  delighted  in  going  behind  the  counter  and  watch- 
ing Grandpa  while  he  sorted  the  mail.  She  was  a  pet  with  the 
people  who  came  to  the  store,  and  seldom  did  anyone  neglect 
asking  the  child  the  oft  repeated  query:  "How  is  your  mother 
to-day,  little  one?"  Her  invariable  answer  being:  "  As  well  as 
usual,  thank  you."  For  in  Myra's  condition  there  was  no 
material  change,  although  the  winter  had  passed  and  the  spring 
come  again. 

Not  the  clean,  sweet  spring-time  they  had  enjoyed  in  the 
pretty  eastern  village,  with  its  stone  walks,  graveled  roads, 
magnificent  shade  trees,  velvet  lawns,  flower  beds,  roses  and 
shrubs;  they  missed  all  these  sadly  and  the  blossoming  fruit 
trees,  too,  besides  many  a  comfort  and  joy.     Myra,  in  her  lonely 


IV J /O   WERE   TO  BLAME.  71 

sick  room,  would  sometimes  forget -herself,  and  imagine  she 
could  smell  the  fragrant  apple  blossoms  of  the  old  <-ree  which 
had  grown  by  her  window  in  the  Barrytown  home;  the  ex- 
quisite perfume  from  the  delicate  pink  roses  of  the  sweet-brier 
bush  her  own  hand  had  jolanted,  came  to  her  as  a  reality:  she 
was  sure  it  was  not  the  scent  of  the  wild  crab-ap2:)le,  or  the 
thorn  bush,  although  they  were  lovely  too,  in  their  way,  grow- 
ing near  the  kitchen  and  wafted  up  to  her  on  the  fresh  prairie 
air,  and  she  could  hear  the  bell  pealing  from  the  tower  of  the 
church  over  by  the  grave  yard,  where  she  had  left  the  dead 
mother  and  the  child.  Nothing  could  convince  her  these  im- 
pressions were  not  real,,  dear  little  woman,  her  head  was  not 
quite  right  yet. 

Doubtless,  had  she  lived  in  these  latter  days  of  wonderful 
scientific  pretension*,  she  might  have  been  consigned  to  the  tender 
care  of  some  asylum  superintendent,  as  a  victim  of  insane  de- 
lusion. A  man,  astonishingly  wise,  who  having  his  own  cranky 
eyes  set  corner-wise,  could  see  a  lunatic  in  every  fifth  person  he 
chanced  to  meet;  a  man  who  it  will  be  remembered,  gave  this 
sort  of  testimony  in  a  celebrated  criminal  trial,  not  many  years 
ago;  a  man  with  most  scholarly  air  intensified  by  the  high, 
white  forehead  and  piercing  black  eyes  set  toward  the  shapely 
nose  with  the  peculiar  inward  slant  alluded  to,  and  a  habit  of 
always  looking  down  at  something  he  seemed  to  be  holding, 
and  closely  studying. 

Should  he  glance  up  at  you  as  you  talk  to  him,  it  is  only 
with  an  amused  quizzical  expression,  as  though  he  said," You 
may  know  something,  but  /  have  the  whole  subject  right  here 
in  my  hand." 

You  speak  of  mankind,  meaning  an  animal  to  be  sure,  of 
the  genus  homo,  but  an  animal  with  a  soul,  an  animal  who 
can  think,  who  can  love,  who  can  plan  and  act  intelligently, 
who  can  look  forward  to  a  future  life,  where  all  thinking,  loving, 
planning,  acting  is  bliss  forevermore.  This  wise  Doctor  stares 
at  you  with  an  incredulous,  almost  contemptuous  manner,  and 
asks,  "Will  your  man  of  the  future  world  have  bones,  blood, 
nerves,  flesh,  heart,  brain,  if  not  I  know  nothing  about  him. 
I  have  a  man  here  before  me  on  this  dissecting  table,  I  have  cut 
his  flesh,  sawed  his  bones,  torn  his  nerves,  stripped,  his  brain, 
uncovered  his  heart — know  all  about  him  through  and  through." 
You  answer,  "Sir,  you  know  nothing  or  nearly  nothing,  about 
the  animal  called  man,  for  all  that.  You  have  not  caused  his 
blood  to  flow,  or  a  nerve  to  quiver,  you  have  only  been  handling 


72  THE  STALWARTS;   Ok\ 

what  he  formerly  inhabited;  him  you  have  not  touched.  If 
he  were  here,  I  could  cause  his  heart  to  throb,  his  blood  to 
course  through  his  veins,  electric  thought  to  flash  from  his 
brain  through  all  his  nerves,  'till  they  should  tingle  with  the 
pain  of  wild  desire,  by  just  one  look  of  my  eye,  one  touch  of 
my  hand." 

The  cold,  earth-groveling  scientist  stares  at  you  again,  but 
only  a  sidelong,  soulless  stare,  not  the  quick,  honest  recognition 
of  spirit  squarely  meeting  spirit  in  debate,  and  he  concludes, 
"here's  another  lunatic,  another  of  the  one  in  Jive ^  we  must  see 
about  this,  and  forthwith  confers  with  an  enemy  he  knows 
of,  also  a  fellow  scientist,  (reduced  to  the  necessity  of  manag- 
ing a  private  asylum  since  being  removed  after  an  investigation 
from  the  state  asylum)  and  soon  has  the  satisfaction  of  acquir- 
ing notoriety  as  well  as  fees  for  himself  and  friend — the  asylum 
superintendent — in  a  celebrated  insanity  trial.  For  the  less  real 
insanity  in  the  victim,  the  more  famous  the  trial  becomes;  oc- 
casionally, by  rare  adroitness,  are  the  prosecutors  outwitted; 
but  to-day,  in  free  America,  an  individual  has  more  reason  to 
dread  being  placed  upon  trial  for  insanity,  than  if  for  murder, 
so  little  do  we  understand  this  subject,  so  fearful  are  we  when 
once  the  cry  of  '-'-jnad  dog^  catch  him,  chain  him!"  is  raised. 

Had  gentle,  sensitive,  loving  Myra,  been  subjected  to  the 
inhuman  treatment  now  common  in  similar  cases;  the  mere  fact 
of  being  separated  from  her  children,  deprived  of  the  care  of 
those  who  loved  her,  missing  her  accustomed  surroundings,  the 
thought  of  being  deserted  by  friends  because  they  did  not  wish 
to  be  troubled,  the  knowledge  that  night  after  night  she  was 
under  lock  and  key,  helpless  in  a  prison  cell,  where,  cry  and 
moan  and  call  as  she  might,  no  one  would  come  at  her  bidding, 
unless  perhaps  the  attendant — prison -keeper — who  should  be 
placed  over  her,  might  from  inherent  kmdness  of  heart  heed 
her  distress,  bring  a  matter  of  option  with  no  one  to  know,  no 
one  to  tell;  the  consciousness  that  any  neglect,  unkindness  or 
cruelty  might  be  practiced,  and  complaint,  when  made,  regard- 
ed as  only  the  imaginings  of  a  maniac,  if  happily  not  alto- 
gether suppressed;  these  wrongs  and  outrages  surely  must  have 
hastened  the  pitiful  ending  of  a  beautiful,  devoted  life. 

Certainly  had  feeble,  shattered  Myra  lived  in  these  latter 
days,  she  might  have  been  the  victim  of  such  wicked  incarcer- 
ation, and  by  the  advice  too  of  the  family  physician.  Under 
this  regime,  her  tortured  sensibilities  must  have  wrought  upon 
the  brain,  until  a  true  frenzy  were  developed,  ere  death  came  to 


iri/0  WERE  TO  BLAME.  73 

her  relief,  and  thus  ignorance  have  basely  claimed  its  inhuman- 
ity justified. 

Happily,  in  that  olden  time  people  had  not  yet  learned  to 
shirk  responsibility  in  this  fashion,  but  cared  patiently,  in- 
telligently, with  loving  service,  for  their  sick  and  disabled, 
whether  the  nerves,  the  stomach  or  the  brain  were  at  fault. 

And  most  tenderly  was  Myra  watched  over  day  and  night, 
not  for  a  moment  was  she  left  alone,  they  dared  not,  for  none 
could  predict  future  developments. 

Lucille,  Julia,  Eben,  Grandpa,  John  or  Uncle  Tut  were  one 
or  another  constantly  with  her,  but  she  could  not  get  used  to 
Julia;  her  attendance,  they  said,  made  her  nervous,  the  sight  of 
Eben  often  set  her  crying.  How  strange!  thought  the  neigh- 
bors and  those  of  the  family  who  did  not  know  the  truth  and 
all  that  had  happened. 

Mistress  Julia  and  Eben  continued  their  intimacy,  though 
carefully  concealed,  especially  from  the  eyes  of  Uncle  Tut. 
He  kept  his  own  counsel  and  their  secret,  now  that  the  mischief 
was  done  and  Myra's  health  and  happiness  destroyed,  he  did 
rot  much  care;  her  intense  sufferings  were  ended  and  she  was 
settling  into  an  apathetic  indifference  from  which  nothing  had 
power  to  rouse  her;  all  force,  vigor,  animation  gone,  only  her 
matchless  sweetness  and  marvelous  patience  remained.  Father, 
liusband,  sister  and  all  her  friends  could  see  as  well  as  Uncle 
Tut,  that  Myra's  life  was  wrecked;  there  was  no  help  for  it 
now,  but  only  he  and  the  other  two  knew  all,  understood  the 
wrong  which  had  been  done. 

More  mischief  was  brewing  in  another  quarter.  It  might 
not  be  too  late  there  for  a  remedy,  and  to  this  Uncle  Tut  turned 
his  attention,  determined  upon  preventing  the  only  son  of  his 
friend.  Dr.  Gascoigne,  from  ending  his  life  as  a  drunkard. 

Although  John  had  partially  recovered  himself  after  the 
shock  of  Myra's  illness,  and  the  seeming  change  for  better  in 
his  wife,  since  the  drinking  bar  had  been  started  on  the  corner 
and  was  the  resort  of  the  town  loafers,  he  was  a  constant  patron, 
and  the  poison  and  debauchery  were  beginning  to  tell  upon 
him  sadly,  as  in  the  case  of  several  others; — more  than  one  wife 
vt^as  ^vatchino:  and  gfrievinof,  more  than  one  mother  in  that  little 
village,  no  inhabited  place  being  too  small  for  a  rum-seller's 
thriving,  or  to  contain  its  drunkards,  certainly  no  western  town. 

Uncle  Tut  meant,  if  possible,  to  change  the  current  into  which 
John  was  drifting,  and  as  a  preliminary  step  essayed    to  break 


74  •  THE  STALWARTS;   OK, 

» 

up  the  infatuation  between  Eben  and  Julia,  and  arouse  some 
feeling  on  her  part  towards  her  husband. 

This  was  not  so  difficult  as  he  had  feared.  Now  that  the 
novelty  of  getting  Myra's  handsome  husband  away  from  her 
had  worn  off,  Julia  was  beginning  to  tire  of  him;  there  w^as 
scarcely  enough  excitement  in  keeping  a  man  from  the  side  of 
a  sick  wife  who  made  no  resistance,  and  whose  patient  sweet- 
ness appealed  to  the  most  callous  heart.  And  Julia  could  scarcely 
be  called  hard-hearted,  she  exhibited  usually  a  good-natured 
kindness  towards  those  of  whom  she  was  not  envious,  was  sel- 
dom vindictive,  but  just  ordinarily  selfish  and  narrow-minded. 
While  lacking  depth  and  tenderness  of  feeling,  she  was  never 
malicious,  surely  not  towards  a  fallen  foe,  and  since  it  was  ap- 
parent how  Myra  had  taken  the  loss  of  her  husband's  affection, 
she  would  most  gladly  have  remedied  the  evil  she  had  helped 
bring  about. 

Watching  faithfully  over  Myra  as  she  had  at  the  first  for  her 
own  protection,  afterwards  because  she  came  to  love  her  in  her 
helplessness  and  suffering,  she  found  all  her  sympathies  turning 
away  from  the  recreant  husband,  to  the  woman  they  had  sorely 
wronged. 

And  Eben  too,  man-like,  now  that  nobody  troubled  about 
or  tried  to  keep  him  away  from  the  forbidden  fruit,  found  he 
did  not  want  it  after  all. 

How  he  regretted  in  those  days  when  he  was  awaking  from 
his  delusion,  that  he  had  not  discerned  the  truth  before  his  wife 
became  the  wreck  she  now  was  in  body  and  mind,  and  how 
those  happy  days  in  the  pleasant  Eastern  home  haunted  him. 
Myra  was  continually  before  his  eyes  as  she  used  to  be,  her 
manner  of  doing  things,  the  way  she  dressed,  the  sprightly, 
cheerful,  amiable  speeches  she  would  make,  all  passed  before 
him  as  the  vision  of  a  dream. 

His  tribulation  was  upon  him  now ;  his  time  had  come,  he 
was  never  more  miserable  in  his  life;  at  last  he  could  not  bear 
the  sight  of  Mistress  Julia,  neither  could  he  endure  the  thought, 
or  to  look  upon  Myra's  pale  face;  truly  was  Eben  between  two 
fires — Gertrude  his  only  solace;  he  was  more  considerate  of  the 
child  than  he  had  ever  been  before,  and  was  winning  back  her 
love,  she  could  see  her  father's  unhappiness,  doing  her  best  to 
comfort. 

Just  then  Uncle  Tut  discovered  the  opportunity  for  doing- 
good,  and  he  went  at  it  in  his  own  direct  way. 

His  claim  had  remained  unmolested    during  the  winter,  but 


IF  I/O  WERE  TO  BLAME.  ^  75 

now  the  spring  had  fairly  opened  and  something  must  be  done. 
New  comers  would  not  scruple  at  taking  possession  of  his  claim, 
cabin  and  all,  unless  some  one  occupied  it,  and  even  then  vigi- 
lance might  be  necessary  in  keeping  all  the  land,  for  a  rough 
fellow  had  settled  beside  him,  driving  stakes  to  suit  himself, 
and  neighbors  reported  had  encroached  upon  Uncle  Tut.  Quite 
likely  violence  might  result  from  any  attempt  at  regaining  his 
lights;  not  unfrequently  were  people  murdered  in  those  earl v 
days,  when  enforcing  possession  of  disputed  claims. 

With  Myra's  sickness  and  all  the  rest,  so  many  things  had 
occurred  in  the  family  of  his  friend  during  the  winter  to  occupy 
the  attention,  that  he  hardly  thought  of  his  own  affair  at  all, 
but  some  ideas  of  a  personal  nature,  which  we  shall  tiear  more 
of  further  on,  coming  lately  to  his  mind,  he  naturally  turned 
to  his  claim,  his  cabin  home.  He  might  iva?it  a  home  again 
before  very  long 

Yes,  he  must  look  after  that  claim,  and  thinking  over  the 
matter  he  concluded  upon  asking  John  and  Julia  if  they  would 
live  with  him  during  the  summer.  Julia  was  a  good  house- 
keeper. John  could  by  this  means  be  removed  from  tempta- 
tion, and  Eben,  who  was  rapidly  getting  over  his  infatuation, 
would  be  given  an  opportunity  for  recovering  his  equilibrium. 

Uncle  Tut  never  delayed  after  he  had  decided  about  a  pro- 
ject, and  that  very  evening  John  and  Julia  had  consented  to  the 
change  and  to  live  with  him  through  the  summer. 

Grandpa  and  Lucille  were  only  too  glad  that  the  ^on  and 
brother  could  be  placed  under  better  conditions.  They  hoped 
Uncle  Tut's  influence,  his  wife's  improved  behavior  and  the 
out  door  work,  would  make  a  reformation  and  restoration  in 
his  life. 

Julia  seemed  really  benefitted  by  the  lesson  of  Myra's  sad 
illness,  and  truly  sorry  for  her  part  in  the  wrong,  and  though 
she  never  became  a  refined,  tender-hearted,  unselfish  woman, 
this  could  not  be  expected,  she  tried  to  atone  in  every  way,  es- 
pecially as  regarded  her  husband,  not  without  good  results. 

After  they  were  gone,  Eben  devoted  himself  more  and 
more  to  his  invalid  wife,  resolved  to  remedy,  so  far  as  possible, 
the  injury  done. 

The  babe  was  growing  stronger,  but  the  mother  preceptibly 
weaker  each  day.  Do  what  they  would  for  her,  the  shock  had 
been  too  severe,  recovery  impossible.  She  had  improved  for 
a  time  in  the  early  spring,  but   now  was  again  declining. 

The  climate  was  adverse,  and  she   pined  for  the  air  of  the 


76  •  THE  STALIVAKIS;   OR, 

far  away  Eastern  home  where  she  was  born,  longing  for  old 
Barry  town  too,  and  all  the  kind  friends  there;  but  her  native 
air  was  what  she  needed  most,  nothing  else  could  restore  her 
lost  vitality. 

But  a  journey  for  one  in  her  condition  was  not  to  be  con- 
sidered, even  had  their  finances  allowed  of  the  expense. 

People  could  not  then,  as  now^,  travel  round  the  world  on 
easy  beds  in  swift  steam-drawn  coaches,  containing  the  com- 
forts and  conveniences  of  every  day  life,  thus  slipping  away 
from  the  clutches  of  the  grim  monster  when  almost  at  death's 
door. 

And  IMyra  pined  and  longed,  growing  feebler  each  day; 
not  even  her  husband's  tender  care  could  bring  her  back  to 
life — it  was  too  late. 

Mother  Brewster,  who  had  been  absent  visiting  one  of  her 
daughters,  returned  when  Myra  was  visibly  failing,  the  family 
exhausted  with  long  watching;  calling  upon  her  friends  and 
finding  the  invalid  sinking,  every  one  in  great  alarm  at  this 
new  and  unfavorable  symptom;  she  forthwith  installed  herself 
at  the  bedside,  and  remained  with  them  until  the  end  came. 

Myra  declined  so  rapidly  now  day  by  day,  her  friends 
knew  nothing  could  save  her.  Eben  and  the  others  went 
about  sorrowfully  doing  what  they  could,  but  it  was  not  much. 

One  day  they  called  the  sad  husband  to  come  in  haste,  but 
before  he  could  reach  her  bed-side  the  patient  little  wife  was 
gone — gone  to  her  rest — a  saintly  smile  on  her  wasted  face. 

Had  a  dagger  struck  him  to  the  heart  Eben  would  not  have 
cried  out — he  did  not  then — but  the  wound  was  deep  never- 
theless. 

He  knew  at  last  how  much  of  happiness  his  own  willful- 
ness and  recklessness  had  lost  him. 

Lucille  and  Gertrude  were  for  a  time  inconsolable,  and  Dr. 
Gascoigne  grieved  as  only  a  wifeless  old  father  can  when  he 
buries  his  favorite  daughter. 

Uncle  Tut  took  Myra's  death  almost  as  much  at  heart;  he 
understood  better  than  any  one  except  those  who  were  guilty 
why  she  died,  and  it  was  hard  to  forgive  them.  Julia  truly  re- 
pented her  conduct,  and  her  frivolous  nature  seemed  deepened 
and  softened;  whether  the  change  would  be  life-long  none 
could  tell. 


IVJIO  WERE  TO  BLAME,  Ti 


CHAPTER  X. 

LUCILLE. 

Her  sister's  death  came  with  crushing  weight  upon  Lucille, 
adding  another  to  her  own  special  sorrow  which  never  left  her 
for  a  moment;  that  face,  those  eyes,  his  presence  were  with  all 
her  waking  hours,  and  at  night  they  haunted  her. 

During  the  first  year  of  the  cruel  estrangem.ent  she  had  been 
comforted  by  Myra's  sympathy  until,  becoming  delirious  in  her 
sad  illness,  and  then  Lucille  found  that  pent-up  grief  is  ten-fold 
harder  to  bear;  when  Myra  partially  recovered  and  they  could 
sometimes  converse  as  of  old,  she  had  again  experienced  relief; 
but  now  her  loved  sister  was  far  away  in  the  Great  Beyond, 
and  Lucille  could  speak  to  no  one.  Her  one  resource  consisted 
in  the  question  asked  each  day — "  Any  letters  for  me  ?  " 

She  was  almost  sure  when  she  had  been  disappointed  more 
than  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  timei,  that  the  one  letter  she 
had  longed  to  see  would  never  come.  She  heard  frequently 
from  Barry  town  and  of  the  marriage  of  one  and  another  of  her 
former  mates,  and  occasional  rumors  reached  her  that  Henry 
Armstrong  intended  taking  on  the  yoke  matrimonial;  but  as 
none  proved  true,  Lucille  continued  hoping  that  sometime  she 
should  receive  the  long  looked  for  letter;  or  that  some  day 
when  the  stage  drove  up  Henry  would  be  one  of  the  passengers. 

She  could  not  get  rid  of  the  idea  that  he  cared  for  her  after 
all,  and  finding  she  did  not  marry,  he  would  at  last  know  she 
was  true  and  w^aiting  for  him;  till  finally  his  heart  must  be 
touched,  and  he  would  come  to  her;  and  thus,  day  by  day,  she 
grieved  over  her  lost  love,  hoping  still. 

Outwardly  she  was  calm  and  cheerful,  maidenly  pride  as- 
sured this,  and  when  the  first  intense  grief  for  her  sister's  death 
had  passed  she  seemed  to  the  eyes  of  strangers  almost  the  same 
bright  little  Lucille  she  had  been  in  Barrytown. 

Lovers,  even  offers  of  marriage,  came  in  plenty,  that  is  as 
many  as  the  village  and  country  round  could  muster,  for  Lu- 
cille was  one  of  those  rare  women,  a  man  looks  upon  but  to 
love,  they  would  offer  themselves  in  marriage  before  she  even 
felt   acquainted;    but  she  had  nothing  to  bestow  upon  any  one 


'".6  THE  STALWARTS;   OK, 

of  them  all,  and  could  not  understand  their  feeling  towards  her, 
for  she  avoided  giving  the  slightest  encouragement. 

Neither  could  they  comprehend  her,  always  lonely  they 
were  sure  to  imagine  an  especially  tender  regard  towards  them- 
selves on  her  part,  and  their  avowal  not  being  reciprocated 
were  sorely  disappointed,  but  she  would  remain  firmly  of  the 
same  mind  yet  entirely  kind,  and  the}^  could  not  be  vexed  with 
her.  Lucille  had  that  unusual  faculty  possessed  by  some  beautiful 
women,  of  making  her  repulsed  lovers  life-long  friends,  and 
they  estimated  her,  after  the  first  ebullition  of  passion  had 
passed  away,  as  a  veritable  saint  whom  no  man  could  approach 
beyond  a  certain  well-defined  limit. 

Poor  little  girl,  could  they  have  seen  her  in  the  pangs  of 
heart  sorrow,  walking  the  floor,  wringing  her  hands,  pressing 
them  on  the  aching  head,  over  the  struggling  heart,  heard  her 
cry  out  in  agony : 

"  Henry,  oh!  Henry  my  own  beloved!  when  will  you 
come?  when  will  you  come?  My  God!  my  God!  I  shall  sure- 
ly die;"  then  they  might  have  understood  why  the  peerless 
Lucille  was  to  all  unapproachable. 

This  one  love  absorbing  her  whole  being,  how  could  she 
give  aught  to  another?  It  was  impossible — but  instead,  she 
grieved  and  agonized,  enduring  stoically — giving  no  sign.  No 
sign?  She  thought  not,  but  her  old  father's  love-quickened 
eye  discerned  all  that  was  in  his  daughter's  heart.  He  could 
not  but  notice  the  sudden  paleness  overspreading  her  face;  upon 
receiving  the  answer:  "No  letter  to-day,"  or  if  one  were 
handed  her,  glancing  at  the  superscription,  missing  the  hand- 
writing she  longed  to  see;  nor  how  eagerly  she  watched  the 
the  passengers  alighting  from  the  coach  each  day,  and  when 
Henry  was  not  among  them  with  weary  footsteps  turning  to 
the  seclusion  of  her  own  room ;  he  had  seen  her  stagger,  almost 
fall  several  times  of  late  before  reaching  the  door. 

Dear  old  man,  life  was  growing  very  sorrowful  in  his  de- 
clining years;  he  needed  a  tried  and  true  counsellor,  in  whom 
he  might  confide;  such  he  found  in  Uncle  Tutty  Swanson.  The 
more  intimately  he  knew  this  rough,  uncouth  man,  the  less  his 
hesitancy  in  trusting  him.  As  his  heavy  burden  pressed  hard, 
and  he  felt  unable  longer  to  carry  it  alone,  he  told  his  faithful 
friend  all  he  could  of  Lucille's  trouble. 

At  first  Uncle  Tut  was  very  angry  with  that  "fool  fellow," 
as  he  called  Henry,  then  he  cooled  down  and  set  his  wits 
working  to  unravel  the  tangle,  but  before  he  got    through  he 


irilO   WERE  TO  BLAME.  79 

found  it  a  task  fully  his  match.  When  a  man  or  woman  un- 
dertakes to  change  the  edicts  of  Fate,  we  won't  say  but  they 
sometimes  accomplish  their  desires;  but  if  so,  it  is  like  command- 
ing a  mountain,  "Be  thou  removed,  and  cast  into  the  sea,"  this 
the  Good  Book  says  can  be  done,  "if  ye  have  faith,"  and  Uncle 
Tut  had  great  faith  in  God's  goodness,  and  faith  in  himself. 

Laboring  long  and  patiently,  sometimes  hopefully,  then  again 
despairingly,  at  his  self-appointed  task,  he  would,  as  he  thought, 
seize  the  right  end  of  the  skein,  and  proceeding,  attempt  un- 
tying the  knot,  when  a  power  beyond  his  ken  would  grasp 
another,  and  he  would  find  the  net  of  events  snarling  tightly 
in  his  hand,  until  suddenly  the  mysteriously  twisted  threads 
slipping  away,  eluded  him  altogether. 

And  what  had  seemed  at  first  but  a  simple  misunderstand- 
ing between  young  lovers,  grew,  as  the  years  went  by,  to  be  a 
momentous  affair,  dragging  down  and  involving  these  two  and 
many  others,  in  the  slimy  meshes  hidden  beneath  those  slums 
where  political  intrigues  love  to  wallow,  and  in  this  instance  by 
their  mischievous  working,  came  near  wrecking  a  prosperous 
nation. 

After  Myra's  funeral,  the  family  resumed  the  routine  of 
their  daily  lives  undisturbed,  aside  from  the  anxiety  caused  by 
Lucille's  unhappiness. 

As  for  Eben,  whatever  he  thought,  nothing  escaped  him, 
but  by  kindness  towards  Grandpa  Gascoigne  and  Lucille,  and 
devotion  to  his  children,  he  proved  his  regret.  From  Gertrude 
he  was  inseparable,  holding  her  fondly  in  his  lap  when  he 
could  spare  time,  looking  into  her  eyes,  stroking  her  bright 
hair,  listening  to  her  ceaseless  prattle,  thinking  how  like  she  was 
toiler  mother. 

Gertrude  talked  a  great  deal  about  her  lost  Mamma,  and 
Eben  liked  to  hear  her.  Myra  was  sadly  missed  by  all,  but 
Aunt  Lucille  had  a  philosophy  of  her  own,  perhaps  not  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  received  opinions  of  those  distant  times,  or 
indeed  as  yet  of  these  latter  days,  which  she  was  able  to  im- 
part to  the  little  one  comforting  both  herself  and  the  child. 

Before  Myra's  release,  her  mind  became  preternaturally  bril- 
liant, active,  spiritualized,  and  Lucille  thought  her  sister  as  near 
being  an  angel  as  humanity  can  possibly  attain  on  earth,  and 
now  as  she  recalled  their  conversations  about  the  future,  and 
the  life  both  hoped  for  in  the  hereafter,  she  could  scarcely  real- 
ize that  she  had  passed  from  her  side;  her  presence  had  so  sav- 
ored of  Heaven,  the  very  air  of  the  room  she  occupied  so  long 


80  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

seemed  filled  by  the  balmy  breezes  from  the  better  land.  What 
wonder  if  the  one  left  to  mourn,  believed  in  the  near- approach 
to  us,  at  times,  of  departed  friends,  after  they  have  passed  be- 
hind the  veil  of  death. 

Lucille  was  obliged  to  spend  much  time  in  Myra's  room, 
which,  now  that  she  was  gone,  was  appropriated  to  the  use  of 
herself  and  the  delicate  babe;  the  infant  requiring  constant  care; 
and  there  were  days  when  her  sister  came  to  her  so  life-like, 
she  felt  she  could  almost  see  her,  hear  her  speak,  and  these 
wonderful  experiences  during  those  months  gladdened  her  heart, 
steadied  her  faith,  causing  her  to  rest  upon  the  promises  of 
Immortality  they  corroborated,  and  the  reality  of  things  unseen, 
as  upon  a  mighty  rock,  for  safety. 

Only  for  this,  Lucille  thought  she  never  could  have  lived 
through  the  dreary  summer  and  desolate  winter;  and  for  years 
after,  the  memory  of  those  days,  when  she  went  back  to  them, 
fell  upon  her  as  a  wierd  spell. 

While  the  babe  was  awake,  demanding  her  care,  she  could 
endure  the  loneliness  and  sorrow,  but  wdien  the  boy  slept,  or 
during  the  long  evenings  and  the  still  nights,  memory  goaded 
without  mercy;  then  Myra's  mystic  talks  would  fill  her  mind, 
comfort  her  breaking  heart,  and  she  seemed  almost  to  hear  her 
voice,  to  see  her  heavenly  smile.  Ahtiost^  almost,  oh!  how  she 
longed  for  the  real  presence,  the  actual  touch  of  the  dear  hands, 
the  living  fleshly  body  to  be  with  her  once  again. 

But  this  could  not  be,  no  prayer  or  love  would  restore  the 
lost  one  just  as  she  was  before  the  change  had  taken  place; 
there  could  be  no  stepping  back  to  the  same  conditions;  all  life 
7nust  go  forzvard^  stagnation  is  actual  death;  the  07tly  death; 
and  there  is  no  such  thing  as  positive  standing  still  in  spirit  or 
in  matter,  thei'efore — there  is  no  death — but  alas!  when  the 
thin  veil  intervenes  it  is  as  effectual  in  separating  loved  ones  as 
the  iron  bar  which  cannot  be  broken,  the  chasm  which  cannot 
be  bridged. 

And  Lucille,  as  does  every  bereaved  heart  to-day,  philoso- 
phised, and  theorized,  trying  to  reason  and  become  reconciled 
to  the  inevitable,  but,  in  spite  of  all,  grieving,  agonizing,  rebel- 
ling just  the  same.  And  to  her  mind  the  separation  from  her 
lover  was  quite  as  effectual,  causing  the  same  suffering  in  kind  if 
not  in  degree  as  the  death  of  her  sister;  only  that  she  believed 
him  to  be  alive,  as  wx  say,  still  in  the  material  body,  and  that 
some  day  he  would  in  reality  come  to  her,  this  was  her  hope, 
her  solace — this  the  difference  between  life  and  death. 


IV//0   WERE   TO  BLAME.  81 

Lucille  had  heard  nothing  for  a  long  time,  even  incidentally, 
from  Henry,  no  one  who  wrote  from  Barrytown  mentioned 
anything  about  him,  and  she  had  been  very  uneasy  and  anxious. 
Soon  after  Myra's  death,  when  the  blackberries  were  ripening, 
she  received  such  an  impression  she  could  not  shake  it  off,  or 
divest  herself  of  the  idea  that  some  calamity  was  impending  re- 
lating to  herself  and  Henry  and  which  would  separate  them  yet 
more  completely. 

It  came  to  her  in  this  wise:  On  a  sultry  day,  the  babe  taking 
his  afternoon  nap  slept  longer  than  usual,  Lucille  too  dozed  in 
her  chair,  the  old  wooden  rocker  Myra  had  brought  from 
Barrytow^n.  Suddenly  she  awoke  with  the  feeling  that  her  sister 
stood  by  her  side  calling  her  attention  to  something  she  wished 
her  to  know,  and  immediately  her  sorrow  came  upon  her  with 
unwonted  force — loneliness  at  the  loss  of  Myra,  intense  longing 
for  Henry. 

She  had  been  unusually  cheerful  during  the  day,  for  it 
seemed  to  her  that  at  last  her  loved  one  was  surely  coming;  but 
now  she  had  awakened  in  an  agony  of  apprehension  and  could 
not  dispel  the  thought  that  Henry  was  going  further  away  even 
than  he  had  been — a  long  way  off — and  the  distance  widened, 
the  space  lengthened  into  years,  until  a  great  gulf  yawned  be- 
tween. 

Lucille  seemed  to  herself  reaching  out  after  her  vanishing 
idol,  trying  to  span  the  abyss;  at  last  drawn  by  an  uncontroll- 
able impulse,  she  stood  upon  her  feet  and  with  out-stretched 
arms  and  beseeching  voice,  cried  aloud:  "  Henry!  Darling!  do 
not  go  away  so  far^  come  back  to  me!  Come!  Co?ne!  Come!" 
and  exhausted  she  sank  down,  a  wonder,  a  mystery  to  herself. 
Recovering  from  the  bewilderment  caused  by  her  strange  con- 
dition, and  trying  to  reason,  she  could  think  only  of  one  event 
likely  to  widen  the  breach — Henry's  marriage — yes,  this  must 
be  what  ailed  her;  and  in  some  mysterious  manner  the  fact  had 
been  conveyed  to  her  mind,  her  heart.  But,  as  she  pondered, 
less  willing  was  she  to  consider  this  the  truth,  or  that  Henry 
had  any  desire  stronger  than  his  w4sh  to  reach  her. 

Then  why  did  he  not  come?  Here  was  the  puzzle,  surely 
he  had  but  to  put  forth  a  man's  indomitable  will  and  any  ob- 
stacle, however  stubborn,  must  3'ield. 

Perhaps  he  was  dangerously  ill — dying — or  dead.  Poor 
Lucille  was  again  in  extreme  distress,  but  her  sufferings  inten- 
sifying her  perceptions,  she  could  not  ignore  the  knowledge 
obtained  that  Henr^^  was  neither  dead,  dying  or  married.      The 


82  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

estrangement  was  certainly  less  than  it  had  been,  still  she  could 
feel  her  loved  one  drifting  further  away  on  the  current  of 
events  though  outside  his  own  volition.  And  now  there 
seemed  a  real  and  tangible  something  that  was  more  than  a 
mere  sentiment,  coming  between  them,  yes,  a  slender,  delicate, 
beautiful  woman  and  Henry  standing  side  by  side.  Nor  could 
she  believe  it  was  Myra  her  own  sister  who  pushed  her  away 
beckoning  Henry  to  go  with  her,  until  Lucille,  trembling  with 
grief,  was  left  standing — alone. 

Dr.  Gascoigne  came  up  for  a  chat  with  his  lonely  daughter 
and  to  see  how  the  babe  was  getting  on.  Finding  her  in  an  ex- 
tremely nervous  state,  he  prescribed  valerian  to  quiet  and  give 
better  sleep.  Throwing  her  arms  about  her  old  father's  neck  the 
little  woman  sobbed  as  if  her  heart  would  break:  "  Oh!  father, 
father,  medicine  for  the  nerves  is  not  what  I  need;  but  peace 
for  my  heart,  rest  for  my  mind!"  and  the  white-haired  man 
who  had  himself  passed  through  grievous  sorrows,  wept  with 
her.  Full  well  did  he  understand  that  not  one  of  his  favorite 
remedies  could  reach  her  ailment. 

"My  child,  vay  poor  child" — was  all  he  could  say. 

Soon  after  the  remarkable  episode  of  that  summer  after- 
noon, Lucille  learned  that  Henry  had  left  Barrytown  about  this 
time,  going  to  a  place  in  York-State,  for  the  purpose  of  attend- 
ing to  some  property  devised  him ;  whether  he  returned  she  was 
not  informed,  and  could  not  under  existing  circumstances  in- 
quire, what  other  foreshadowing  of  events  was  meant  to  be 
conveyed,  she  received  no  immediate  intimation,  but  at  the  last 
all  was  made  plain. 


IVNO  WERE   TO  BLAME, 


CHAPTER  XI. 


UNCLE  TUT  AXD  AUNT  DEBBY. 


At  the  time  Myra  was  taken  sick  the  family  of  Dr.  Gas- 
coigne  had  secured  the  services  of  Aunt  Debby  Jones,  an  ex- 
cellent but  gossippy  woman,  she  assisting  with  the  housework, 
who  will  be  remembered  as  the  officious  friend  trying  to  set 
matters  right  between  Eben  and  his  wife,  in  the  commence- 
ment of  the  trouble,  making  such  a  botch  of  it  as  to  call  for  re- 
proof from  her  usually  quiet  husband.  He,  poor  man,  yielded 
to  the  unfortunate  climate,  dying  from  malarial  fever,  the  fall  of 
their  arrival  in  Freelawn. 

Aunt  Debby  remaining  with  them  through  the  sickness  and 
death  of  Myra,  was  regarded  by  the  stricken  family  as  a  special 
providence.  She  had  not  failed  to  discover  with  those  eyes  of 
hers,  black  and  brilliant — they  could  snap  and  sparkle  too  upon 
occasion — not  one  bit  like  Uncle  Tut's,  nearly  as  much  as  had 
he  of  the  trouble;  and  Aunt  Debby  never  entirely  forgave 
E ben's  neglect  of  his  wife,  during  the  convalescent  period  of 
her  illness,  declaring  privately  to  a  dozen  or  more  intimate 
friends,  that  "Myra  Grieveau  might  have  recovered  then,  had 
Eben  attended  to  her  instead  of  spending  his  time  flirting  with 
Mistress  Julia  Gascoigne;"  and  when  she  saw  his  remorse,  said 
*'it  was  just  good  enough  for  him," 

Many  a  knowing  look  had  been  exchanged  between  those 
dull,  blue-grey  eyes  and  the  snapping  black  ones,  while  these 
things  were  transpiring;  Uncle  Tut  even  condescending  to  give 
an  occasional  chuckle  in  Aunt  Debby's  presence,  and  a  few 
times  attempted  talking  with  her,  but  "law  sakes,"  as  she  would 
say,  "I  couldn't  keep  my  own  rattling  tongue  still  long  enough 
•  to  listen,  while  he  drawled  out  one  of  his  stammering  speeches." 

Dr.  Gascoigne  surprised  them  one  day  when  Myra  wiis 
better,  soon  after  the  babe  was  born,  trying  to  converse,  and 
heart-sick  as  he  was,  could  not  stop  laughing,  though  it  was 
the  only  sense  of  jollity  he  had  known  in  months. 

Here  is  a  specimen  of  what  they  were  saying;  "Miss  Jo- 
Jones,"  began  Uncle  Tut,  "ca-can  I  ge-get  yo-you  some  kin- 
kind-"  Aunt  Debby  catching  the  idea,"Kindling-wood  ?  Yesif 
you  please,  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  vou." 


84  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

"We-well  Where's  th-the-" 

"Ax?  You'll  find  it  behind  the  wood-box.  Scat,  you  cat, 
there  now,  get  out  will  you;  you're  always  poking  your  nose 
into  everything;  I  declare  to  it,  if  you  ain't  lickin^  your  chops 
now,  for  all  I  watch  you  every  minute — scat,  get  out."  And 
after  poor  pussy  went  the  irate  woman  with  the  broom. 

"Lo-look  out,  Mi-Miss  Jo-Jones,  yo-you'll  hi-hit-" 

"Hit  you,  no  I  won't,  if  you'll  keep  out  of  the  way;  there 
now."  And  bang  went  the  door  after  the  retreating  cat,  and 
also  Uncle  Tut,  he,  ax  in  hand,  for  the  needed  kindling-wood ; 
firmly  of  the  opinion  he  should  never  he  able  to  keep  "Miss 
Jones"  as  he  called  her,  quiet  long  enough  to  tell  how  he  thought 
her  about  the  smartest  woman  he  ever  met,  and  had  a  notion,  if 
she  did  not  object,  to  try  if  they  two  could  pull  together  the 
remainder  of  their  lives. 

And  he  continued  thinking  it  over,  how  he'd  like  to  have 
her  keep  house  for  him,  on  the  claim,  through  the  summer  and 
longer;  but  as  he  dared  not  undertake  the  job  of  asking,  it  hap- 
pened that  finally  John  and  Julia  w^ent  with  him — but  this  was 
only  for  the  first  summer. 

After  her  mother's  death,  Gertrude  was  a  great  comfort, 
and  furnished  much  amusement  for  them  all,  with  her  peculiar 
ways  and  odd  speeches,  her  dollies  and  kittens,  which  she  loved 
dearly  as  ever^  managing  to  have  a  multiplicity  of  both.  Be- 
ing old  enough  now,  she  might  be  trusted  in  Aunt  Debby's 
kitchen,  and  they  were  becoming  fast  friends,  although  Ger- 
trude carefully  kept  her  pet  cats  out  of  the  way  as  much  as  pos- 
sible. 

The  hard  working  woman  liked  the  child,  she  was  so  quiet, 
orderly  and  winning,  "no  one  could  help  it,"  all  the  neighbors 
said,  and  besides  Aunt  Debby  pitied  her  because  she  was  mother- 
less, bestowing  many  a  kindness  on  this  account. 

Gertrude,  like  all  little  girls,  was  fond  of  playing  with  dough, 
and  would  watch  patiently  while  Aunt  Debby  rolled  out  what- 
ever she  was  making,  bread,  pies  or  cookies,  w^hen,  getting  her- 
own  little  bread  board  and  rolling-pin  she  had  coaxed  Uncle 
Tut  to  make  for  her,  climbing  into  a  chair  at  the  end  of  the 
table,  she  would  peer  up  in  her  face,  wath  those  violet  eyes  like 
her  mother's,  saying  in  a  queer,  lisping  w^ay: 

"  Peathe,  Aunt  Debby,  dive  me  a  'ittle  piece  of  dough  to 
make  a  pie  wiv." 

No  w^oman  with  a  heart  could  resist  her,  and  Gertrude  se- 
cured many  a  scrap  to  roll  and  muss  with.  Aunt  Debby  letting 


IVHO  WERE   TO  BLAME.  8.> 

her  bake  and  actually  eat  the  brown,  dirty  lump  although  she 
declared  "It  went  agin  her  stomic;"  but,  said  she,  by  way  of 
excuse,  "that  young  'un  has  away  with  her  as  would  soften 
the  heart  of  a  stone." 

Besides  her  cooking  accomplishments  she  was  learnmg  to 
sew  and  make  dollies'  clothes,  and  they  were  tailor-made,  too; 
at  any  rate  manufactured  in  a  tailor's  shop;  this  happy  aristo- 
cratic consummation  being  thus  achieved;  Gertrude,  spendmg 
much  time  in  the  store  for  the  edification  of  Grandpa,  Papa  and 
herself,  saw  here  different  gentlemen;  one  especially  friendly 
was  her  fancy,  and,  being  the  village  tailor,  often  took  her 
home  with  him,  teaching  her  to  sit  cross-legged  on  his  table  as 
he  did,  and  here  she  would  sew  contentedly  for  hours,  he 
threading  her  needles. 

Years  after,  when  he  had  become  one  of  the  wealthiest  men 
in  his  section,  and  Gertrude  the  most  sorrowful  women  living, 
meeting  in  Washington,  these  two  recalled  the  good  times  they 
spent  together  when  she  was  a  wee  little  girl. 

Diverted  by  these  and  other  immaterial  incidents,  our  friends 
soon  found  the  winter  had  passed  and  spring  come  again.  *  *  * 
While  Myra  had  been  sinking  away  in  that  quiet  chamber, 
and  those  left  behind  were  grieving  after  she  was  gone,  a  very 
different  existence  was  coming  to  our  friends  on  the  claim,  one 
full  of  activity,  some  excitement,  even  danger. 

Mistress  Julia  was  installed  as  housekeeper,  and  Uncle  Tut 
and  John  were  busy  breaking  up  the  deep  prairie  soil,  using 
heavy  ox-teams  instead  of  horses,  and  planting  in  the  newly- 
turned  sod  potatoes  and  corn,  the  first  resort  of  agriculturists 
in  tilling  virgin  soil;  wheat,  oats  and  other  products  coming 
after,  with  the  crops  adapted  to  older  farms;  this,  v^ith  the 
building  of  sheds  for  one  purpose  and  another,  preparations  for 
fencing  and  the  care  of  the  stock,  kept  the  men  well  occupied; 
while  Julia's  dairy  and  garden  filled  in  her  spare  time. 

Besides  the  regular  work,  one  whole  side  of  the  claim  had 
to  be  restaked,  and  this  more  than  once,  for  no  sooner  were  they 
in  place  than  little  by  little  they  disappeared.  Unaccountably? 
Well,  not  exactly.  Uncle  Tut  felt  sure  how  it  was,  and  why 
the  same  thing  had  occurred  during  the  winter. 

The  claim  being  a  very  desirable  one,  situated  on  high,  roll- 
ing prairie,  sloping  to  a  nice  piece  of  bottom  land  near  the 
riv'er,  wooded  on  either  side,  giving  a  strip  of  timber,  quite  a 
disideratum,  and  close  by  the  cabin  home  was  a  large  spring, 
from  which  flowed  a  clear  brook,  another  rarity;  these  unusual 


86  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

advantages  causing  a  new-comer,  a  hard,  grasping,  ugly  cus- 
tomer, to  covet  his  neighbor's  possessions;  for  though  there 
w^as  plenty  of  land  to  be  had  for  the  taking  up,  such  farms  as 
this  were  far  apart. 

Much  trQuble  was  caused  in  those  early  days  by  men  who 
maliciously  endeavored  to  secure  choice  land  already  entered. 

A  man  would  honestly*  comply  with  the  requirements 
of  the  Government  that  settlers  taking  land  must  improve  and 
live  on  the  same,  pay  his  fee,  driving  stakes  to  mark  the 
claim,  build  a  cabin,  and  with  his  family  commence  farming 
in  earnest;  when  something  occurring  to  discourage,  sickness  or 
unusual  hardship,  he  would  temporarily  abandon  his  new 
home,  as  did  Uncle  Tut. 

This  often  happened  in  the  fall;  having  obtained  more  com- 
fortable quarters,  and  likely  employment  during  the  winter  in  the 
nearest  village,  intending  a  return  in  the  spring.  If  no  one  re- 
moved the  stakes,  took  possession  of  the  cs^hm^jufnpedthe  clai?n 
while  the  rightful  owner  was  absent — all  was  well — but  fre- 
quently this  took  place  and  then  trouble  followed. 

Or  the  stakes  being  partially  broken  down  by  accident  and 
neglect,  a  prospector  not  finding  them,  would,  by  mistake,  lay 
out  a  claim  over  on  his  neighbor's,  and  then  a  disputed  bound- 
ary would  cause  much  bitterness.  Sometimes  dishonestly,  from 
pure  avarice,  the  same  thing  occurred  as  in  Uncle  Tut's  case, 
and  on  one  side  of  his  land  he  could  not  keep  the  line  defined, 
work  as  he  would. 

This  new  neighbpr  had  decided  upon  taking  possession  of 
the  vacant  cabin,  when  Uncle  Tut  and  party  arrived  to  reoc- 
cupy,  and,  coming  a  day  too  late,  made  no  effort  at  concealing 
his  disappointment. 

Being  one  of  those  unreasonable  persons  who  are  sure  to 
consider  themselves  aggrieved  when  the  fault  is  their  own,  he 
had  been  heard  more  than  once  to  vow  vengeance  and  declare 
that  under  the  law  the  whole  land  belonged  to  him,  as  he  lived 
in  the  cabin  during  the  six  months  of  Uncle  Tut's  absence;  but 
of  this  there  was  no  proof,  and  his  assertion  was  not  credited; 
nevertheless  his  threats  boded  mischief,  for  not  unfrequently 
w^ere  lives  lost  and  property  destroyed  in  these  contests. 

Meantime  John  and  Uncle  Tut  possessed  their  souls  in  pa- 
tience, working  steadily  at  the  contemplated  improvements. 


WHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  87 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  PIC-NIC. 

As  everything  is  moving  smoothly  at  present,  if  not  entirely 
satisfactory,  both  with  our  friends  in  the  village  and  on  the 
claim,  at  any  rate,  as  we  can  do  nothing  to  help  them,  we  will 
go  back  to  Barrytown,  which  they  left  nearly  two  years  ago, 
and  ascertain  the  changes  which  are  taking  place  there,  no  less 
than  in  the  Western  home,  also  tracing  the  outcome  of  some 
unexpected  events. 

Dr.  Gascoigne  has  been  sadly  missed;  his  place  poorly  sup- 
plied by  young  Dr.  Bankson,  who  came  from  near  Boston  to 
Barrytown,  soon  after  the  good  Doctor  and  the  Grieveaus  had 
departed  for  the  West. 

The  young  doctor,  possessing  money,  was  of  course  con- 
sidered decidedly  a  better  catch  than  Henry  Armstrong,  and  the 
wildest  of  those  giddy  girls,  who  had  caused  Lucille's  grievous 
trouble,  deliberately  laid  siege  to  the  citadel  of  his  affections. 
Being  somewhat  of  a  beauty,  and  one  who  could  be  demure  as 
a  saint  when  she. choose,  the  gentleman  was  soon  in  her  toils; 
they  were  married  in  a  hurry,  and  he  had  all  his  life  before  him 
for  leisurely  repentance,  really  deserving  a  better  wife. 

Edward  had  not  sold  Myra's  snug  home  when  the  event 
occurred,  .and  Dr.  Bankson  purchased  the  cottage,  installing  his 
wife  therein,  expecting  many  days  of  comfort  and  joy  to  fol- 
low; but  alas,  her  slatternly  ways  soon  played  sad  havoc  with 
the  appearance  of  everything  inside  and  around  the  house.  As 
time  passed,  dirty,  crying  children  about  the  front  door,  broken 
crockery  and  rubbish  at  the  back,  told  the  tale  of  discomfort 
and  waste  within. 

Here  was  a  husband  who  had  most  excellent  cause  of  com- 
plaint, here  a  most  unsatisfactory  wife  and  home;  as  they  num- 
ber but  one  in  the  myriads  of  criss-cross  matches  thickly 
scattered  throughout  the  world,  we  will  follow  their  history  no 
further,  introducing  them  here  to  show  what  Henry  Armstrong 
discovered  as  to  the  stuff  such  girls  prove  to  be,  and  the  kind 
of  wives  into  whicb  they  grow. 

Every  time  he  passed  Dr.  Bankson's  door,  it  was  to  contrast 
the  difference    between  the  motherless  daughters  of  Dr.  Gas- 


88  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

coigne  and  the  silly  girls  he  had  allowed  to  prejudice  him  against 
Lucille,  the  one  he  truly  loved. 

Jealousy  had  ailed  him,  and  now  as  the  months,  even  years, 
w^ere  passing,  bringing  no  tidings  of  her  marriage,  or  that  she 
was  receiving  special  attention  from  old  or  new  admirers,  he 
began  to  realize  what  a  simpleton  he  had  been,  and  how  much 
of  sweetness  and  devotion  foolishly  thrown  away. 

Although  at  times  his  sense  of  loneliness  and  loss,  the  de- 
sire to  see  Lucille  and  take  her  in  his  arms,  was  overpowering, 
his  pride  would  not  let  him  acknowledge  this  mistake,  at  least 
in  writing,  but  promising  himself  that  after  a  little,  he  would 
go  West  prospecting,  find  Lucille,  and  if  she  did  not  resent  his 
unkind  treatment,  bring  her  back,  or  even  settle  there  himself; 
he  would  consider  the  idea. 

Henry's  friends  noticed  he  was  very  uneasy,  was  getting  a 
touch  of  the  "Western  fever,"  and  surmising  the  old  liking  for 
little  Lucille  Gascoigne  had  something  to  answer  for,  they  did 
not  hesitate  to  banter  him  accordingly,  but  soon  stopped  that, 
the  spot  was  too  sore  for  careless  probing,  they  found  Henry 
was  not  a  man  to  be  trifled  with,  though  so  genial  and  good 
natured. 

About  this  time,  the  latter  part  of  the  summer  after  the 
Grieveau  party  had  left  Barrytown,  as  Henry  was  firmly  resolv- 
ing to  go  West  that  very  fall,  and  before  he  returned  see  Lucille, 
he  received  news  of  the  death  of  an  uncle  who  had  lived  in 
eastern  New  York,  or  York  State  as  people  used  to  say;  a 
wealthy  man  as  riches  were  estimated  in  those  days,  and  being 
a  bachelor,  had  left  the  bulk  of  his  fortune,  a  few  thousand 
dollars,  to  the  only  son  of  his  only  sister;  Henry  must  come 
i?nmediately^  the  letter  said  which  had  been  a  month  on  the 
wa}^,  postage  twenty-five  cents,  and  attend  to  his  inheritance, 
being  as  some  might  think,  encumbered  by  the  old  mother  of 
the  legatee,  who  must  be  looked  after  and  cared  for. 

And  thus  nothing  remained  for  Henry  but  to  turn  his  head 
towards  the  rising  instead  of  the  setting  sun.  Thus  does  Fate 
blow  us  about  as  the  shuttle-cock — the  battle-dore,  at  the  mercy 
of  every  breeze;  or  is  it  Providence  directing  our  devious  course? 
Let  us  choose  the  latter  belief,  it  will  make  us  happier — per- 
haps better. 

And  Henry's  pill  was  not  so  hard  to  swallow  as  those  un- 
gilded  or  not  even  sugar-coated;  his  western  trip  must  plainly 
be  deferred;  but  when  he  did  go  he  could  establish  himself  to 
his  mind  or  come  back,  as  he  chose;  perhaps  he'd  remain,  select 


WHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  89 

a  suitable  location,  lay  out  a  town  and  call  it  by  the  respectable 
old  name  of  Armstong. 

Disappointed,  but  not  altogether  discomfitted,  Henry  made 
preparations  for  turning  squarely  around  and  away  from  the 
road  his  inclination  prompted  him  to  take. 

Waiting  Lucille!  I  fear  your  heart  will  break  before  he 
comes. 

Now  that  he  had  inherited  a  fortune,  Henry  Armstrong  was 
the  "'  Lion  "  of  the  village,  and  several  of  those  same  wild  girls 
tried  to  fix  their  fangs  upon  his  heart  with  utmost  endeavor; 
not  accomplishing  their  purpose,  for  there  was  more  trans- 
parency than  wisdom  m  their  scheming^ 

It  was  Mr.  Armstrong,  and  Mr.  Armstrong,  and  now  please 
do  Air.  Ar7}istrong  do  this,  and  come  here,  and  go  there,  and 
invitation  to  tea,  to  luncheon,  to  parties,  to  pic-nics,  and  adula- 
tion, and  flattery,  and  flumery  until  he  was  sick  with  disgust, 
annoyed  beyond  measure  from  attentions  he  knew  to  be  heart- 
less. 

All  this  only  brought  sincere,  quiet  Lucille^  with  her  honest 
affection  and  modest  ways,  more  vividly  before  him,  and  he 
realized  how  deeply  in  love  he  had  been  all  along  and  that  the 
love  was  growing  now  day  by  day. 

Occupied  with  preparations  for  leaving  Barrytown  not  to 
return  again,  having  concluded  to  go  directly  west  from  Ben- 
tonville,  his  new  home,  when  he  had  arranged  his  business 
there;  busy  as  he  found  himself,  Lucille  was  before  him  every 
waking  moment,  and  at  night  she  came  to  him  in  dreams. 

How  he  longed  to  see  her  and  tell  her  of  his  sorrow  because 
of  the  grief  he  knew  he  had  caused  her;  but  not  even  with  the 
addition  of  remorse  did  he  suffer  as  she;  a  man's  nature  is  so 
different  from  a  woman's.  With  her,  love  is  all — with  him, 
only  an  incident;  often  multiplied,  and  so  near  alike  in  intensity 
he  is  puzzled  to  know,  dear  soul,  which  it  shall  be,  Mary  or 
Jennie. 

And  is  it  not  always  as  with  Henry  ?  Was  it  not  really  a 
question  of  his  own  determination?  Could  he  not  go,  or  at 
least  communicate  with  her  whenever  he  strongly  willed  to  do 
so?  No  social  requirements  held  hi?}i  to  a  line  which  could  not 
be  overstepped,  and  it  may  well  be  doubted  whether  any  man 
fails  to  win  a  woman  whom  he  truly  loves  if  he  sets  himself 
about  the  task,  unless  another  already  occupies  her  heart. 
Women  so  need  sympathy  and  protection. 

Although  Henry  had  been  jealous  of  wdiat  he  believed  Lu- 


90  THE  STALWART S;   OR, 

cille's  want  of  appreciation,  and  the  thought  did  occasionally 
obtrude  itself  that  someone  else  might  secure  her  affection,  yet 
strangely  enough  his  faith  in  her  steadfastness  grew  with  time. 

The  only  way  to  solve  the  whole  problem  was  to  get  away 
from  Barrytown  and  proceed  on  his  eastern  journey  at  once. 

As  the  time  of  leave-taking  drew  near  Henry's  friends,  the 
aforesaid  young  ladies,  among  others,  planned  a  picnic  in  honor 
of  his  departure — a  sort  of  "good-bye-for-luck  "  affair. 

Some  two  or  three  of  the  most  inveterate  flirts  the  village 
contained,  those  who  upon  approaching  the  uncertain  line  divid- 
ing young  ladyhood  from  old  maidenhood,  were  weighing  and 
counting  their  last  chances;  grasping  desperately  after  every 
stray  ticket  in  the  matrimonial  lottery,  had  determined  if  possi- 
ble to  secure  something  tangible  and  decisive  before  he  left 
them,  from  the  handsome,  gallant  and  very  desirable  Mr. 
Armstrong  now  that  he  was  to  have  property;  and  they  hoped 
by  their  bewitching  toilets,  fascinating  manners  and  the  oppor- 
tunities for  unwonted  freedom  to  succeed  upon  this  occasion. 
They  commenced,  each  trying  for  a  special  invitation  to  accom- 
pany Mr.  Armstrong,  but  he  preferred  just  going  along  with 
the  crowd";  and  besides,  his  mother  required  close  attention,  for 
this  was  to  be  a  turning  out  of  the  whole  village,  both  old  and 
young,  seeking  an  afternoon  of  enjoyment. 

As  the  blackberries  were  ripe  in  the  woods  on  the  hill-sides 
they  proposed  making  a  profitable  excursion  of  it  also,  and,  lock- 
ing up  the  houses,  leaving  a  few  who  were  infirm,  too  old  or 
young  for  the  jaunt.  With  these  exceptions  the  whole  town 
piled  into  vehicles  of  every  description,  drawn  by  any  sort  of  a 
horse,  and  started  for  the  deep  green  woods,  carrying  pails  and 
baskets  for  the  ripe,  luscious  berries,  and  jugs  of  cool  milk  from 
the  cellars,  and  jellies,  preserves,  and  pickles,  and  hams  boiled, 
chickens  fried,  and  pies  of  every  description;  and  sweet  cakes, 
caraway  cakes  and  doughnuts;  and  cheese,  sage-cheese  and 
cream  cheese,  dried-beef  and  every  known  kind  of  bread;  hop 
yeast  bread,  emptins  bread,  salt  rising  bread,  every  style  except 
bakers'  bread,  the  ever  available  relief  of  modern  housewives; 
and  biscuits  from  the  raised  dough,  and  delicious,  tender,  tooth- 
some, oldfashioned  biscuits  of  generous  proportions,  made  with 
sour  cream  and  saleratus,  such  as  only  our  grandmothers  could 
mould — a  lost  art — and  eaten  on  them,  genuine  maple  syrup 
and  white  clover  honey,  made  by  the  real  bees,  not  the  article 
manufactured  from  glucose,  sorghum  and  the  like.  All  this 
for  luncheon  in  the  woods,  substantial  and  bountiful  truly,  and 


WHO  WERE   TO  BLAME.  91 

the  people  were  as  old-fashioned  and  comfortable  as  the 
edibles. 

A  merrier  party  seldom  gathered,  than  rode  over  the  hills 
and  along  the  edge  of  romantic  ravines,  on  that  summer  day, 
reaching  the  heavy  woods  by  the  river,  a  few  miles  from  the 
town,  before  noon. 

The  Rev.  Father  Stebbins  was  along,  the  recipient  of  ex- 
treme attention,  and  young  Dr.  Bankson  with  his  pretty  wife; 
village  Pastor  and  Doctor,  honored  guests,  dividing  privileges 
with  Mr.  Armstrong,  the  hero  of  the  hour. 

Henry  had  placed  his  mother  in  their  roomy  rockawa}-, 
drawn  by  faithful  old  Charley,  with  a  dear  friend  of  hers  on 
the  broad,  easy,  back  seat,  and  when  all  were  ready  for  the 
starting,  found  himselj  squeezed  in  between  two  of  the  afore- 
said young  ladies;  how  they  came  to  be  there,  he  never  knew, 
but  they  did. 

One,  a  dark  beauty  gorgeous  in  furbelowed  pink  calico,  the 
other,  a  cross  between  a  blonde  and  brunette  with  no  color  hair, 
dingy  complexion,  and  eyes  neither  blue,  brown  nor  honest 
grey,  with  no  freshness  or  decided  color  about  her,  yet  exhibit- 
ing the  imbecility  of  attiring  herself  in  solid  cottony  white, 
without  one  bit  of  filminess  or  airiness  of  texture  to  redeem  the 
unfortunate  selection;  the  only  pleasing  item  about  their  cos- 
tumes or  appearance,  being  the  rather  good  looking  necks  and 
arms  possessed  by  these  healthy  country  girls,  displayed  to  ad- 
vantage in  the  low-necked  and  short-sleeved  dresses  universally 
worn  by  all  females  in  those  days,  whether  babes,  misses,  young 
ladies,  even  married  women  of  mature  years,  on  all  occasions; 
a  shawl,  cape  or  m.antle  added  for  out-door  protection. 

A  fashion,  happily  for  the  health  of  the  race,  not  mention- 
ing quite  chaste  manners,  long  since  abolished,  unless  recent 
innovation  be  an  attempted  revival  by  the  recherche  select  few. 

But  then  everybody  wore  them,  that  is  all  who  aspired  to  be 
anybody^  as  the  distinctive  mark  of  a  gentleman  must  be  his 
black  suit,  silk  hat  and  uncomfortable,  high,  stiff  stock  encasing 
his  neck;  the  world  has  certainly  moved  on  in  these  regards. 

Henry  Armstrong  enjoyed  his  ride?  Well,  yes,  he  was  at 
least  amused. 

On  one  side  being  entertained  by  Miss  Amanda  with  squeak- 
ing voice  pitched  in  the  highest  treble: 

"Now,  Henry,  let  me  drive,  do;  I  know  how,  see  if  I  don't," 
and  taking  the  reins  in  each  hand,  woman  fashion,  slapping  first 
one  and  then  the  other  on   the   back  of  the  patient  animal,  and 


93  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

producing  a  peculiar  noise  from  her  mouth,  such  as  oniy  a  fe- 
male devoid  of  horse  lore,  ever  essayed,  with  an  occasional 
"git  up,  there  novs^."  'Manda  imagined  she  was  urging  on  the 
slack  jog-trot  of  the  old  horse;  the  fact  being  Charley  drove 
himself,  as  does  many  a  human  drudge,  ganging  his  own  gait, 
while  some  one  carrying  the  whip  and  holding  the  lines  fancies 
by  this  arrangement  every  impulse  and  movement  is  controlled. 
"Get  up,"  squeaked  'Manda,  until,  as  the  horse  was  trotting 
leisurely  down  hill,  she  dropped  both  lines  and  whip  under 
Charley's  feet,  and  then  screamed. 

'^Whoa !"  called  Henry  composedly  but  decisively.  Instantly 
the  docile  creature  stopped  still  although  the  carriage  was  crowd- 
ing on  his  heels. 

Out  jumped  Henry,  picking  up  the  lost  articles,  and  patting 
the  good  horse  affectionately  on  the  neck,  giving  his  nose  a  lit- 
tle stroke  or  two  by  way  of  reward  for  good  behavior,  think- 
ing the  while,  how  much  more  knowing  and  companionable 
most  horses  are  than  some  girls. 

'Manda  did  not  again  obtrude  her  accomplishments  upon  his 
attention. 

While  she  had  been  trying  to  drive.  Miss  Mollie  on  the 
other  side  of  the  much  enduring  Henry,  was  lisping  soft  com- 
pliments into  his  ear. 

"How  much  better  you  do  look  Henry,  since  you  have  had 
your  hair  cut  for  the  warm  weather.  I  like  to  see  a  man  with 
short,  curly  hair;  Jim  Smith's  hair  is  so  long  and  straight,  such 
a  mean  color,  too;  I  never  could  bear  Jim  Smith,  anyway." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  Mollie,"  answered  Henry,  *'Jim  is  a  good 
fellow  if  he  isn't  very  handsome." 

Miss  Mollie  was  glad  a  few  years  after  to  take  Jim  Smith 
"for  better  or  for  worse." 

Laughing  and  chatting  as  they  went,  talking  about  nothing 
at  all,  they  soon  reached  the  spring  in  the  woods,  at  the  foot  of 
a  high  hill  with  over-hanging  rocks,  near  where  the  black-ber- 
ries grew  in  plenty. 

The  company  alighting,  unloaded,  tied  the  horses  and  pre- 
pared for  luncheon,  boys  bringing  water  from  the  gurgling  spring, 
men  making  fires  from  brush  and  dry  leaves,  that  the  women 
might  boil  the  tea  and  coffee  they  had  provided.  A  cloth  was 
spread  here  and  there,  and  a  few  grouping  about  each  impromptu 
repast,  all  hastened  to  refresh  themselves  before  commencing 
the  real  object  of  the  day — berry-picking — and  possibly  too, 
love-making. 


U7/0  WERE  TO  BLAME  93 

When  they  had  eaten  their  fill,  everything  was  packed  care- 
fully away,  and  leaving  those  disinclined  for  fatigue  in  charge 
of  the  wagons  and  teams,  the  workers  gathered  about  anv 
heavily  laden  bush  they  encountered,  and  commenced  in  earnest, 
each  intent  upon  surpassing  the  others. 

Gradually,  and  possibly  prepense,  the  groups  dwindled  to 
three  or  four  in  a  place,  as  a  new  bush  would  be  discovered. 
Eventually,  the  whole  party  paired  off  in  twos,  for  there  were 
lovers  of  every  age  and  stage  of  development;  little  cupids  of 
seven  summers  or  less,  and  those  stirred  by  the  sacred  fires  at 
seventy  years  of  age;  there  were  wee  ones,  just  commencing 
to  twitter,  others  contentedly  assured,  those  soon  to  be  united 
in  wedlock,  somey^-f  lovers  stilly  though  year^  had  intervened 
since  they  had  entered  the  holy  bonds  of  matrimony ;  every  one 
a  lover  of  somebody. 

Such  was  life  in  the  olden  times,  and  human  nature  is  un- 
changed to-day. 

The  two  young  ladies  who  by  some  strategy  rode  in  Henry's 
carriage,  each  used  their  practiced  wiles  in  the  effort  to  draw 
him  away  from  the  company,  but  he  proved  in  no  mood  for  be- 
ing enticed;  others  tried  the  same  plan,  but  his  mind  was  fixed 
upon  one  far  away,  and  he  could  not,  flirt  that  he  had  been,  in- 
terest himself  in  any  one  else,  and  in  spite  of  all  inducements, 
just  stayed  by  his  mother  and  her  friend  the  live-long  day. 

The  picnic  was,  to  Henry,  decidedly  tiresome  though  con- 
trived in  his  honor,  but  like  all  mundane  events,  it  came  to  an 
end  at  last,  as  the  earth  revolving  and  the  sun  disappearing,  re- 
minded them  of  night  and  home.  When  they  were  arranging 
for  the  return,  Father  Stebbins  came  forward  leading  by  the 
hand  a  timid  young  Miss,  and  accosting  Henry,  said,  "Allow 
me  Mr.  Armstrong,  to  present  my  niece.  Miss  Efiie  Stebbins. 
She  arrived  only  last  evening  from  my  brother's,  who  lives  south 
of  Barrytown,  and  as  she  leaves  by  the  same  stage  which  I 
suppose  you  take  to-morrow,  for  her  home  in  Bentonville,  I  beg 
you  will  act  as  her  escort,  knowing  we  may  securely  trust  her 
in  your  care." 

"Certainly,  Father  Stebbins,  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  ren- 
der the  young  lady  any  service  in  my  power,  and  doubt  not  she 
will  require  all  I  can  bestow,  ere  we  reach  our  destination,  for 
the  journey  is  long  and  tiresome.  If  you  wish  I  will  order  the 
morning  stage  for  her  to-morrow  at  7  o'clock." 

Neither  of  the  three  suspected  that  Destiny  was  playing  a 
trump;  but  it  was  even  so,  and  this  was  partly,  though  not  the 


94  THE  STALWARTS;   OR. 

whole  by  any  means,  of  the  trouble  which  impressed  Lucille 
that  summer  afternoon,  hundreds  of  miles  away,  dozing  in 
Myra's  old  arm  chair,  woi'ked  upon  by  U7ikno'von  forces^  seeing 
visio7is  of  the  present^  led  into  futurity. 

The  next  morning  saw  Henry  and  Miss  Stebbins  starting  by 
stage  towards  Detroit,  where  they  were  to  take  the  boat  for  Buf- 
falo and  Erie,  and  thence  proceed  by  the  famous  canal  to  the  end 
of  their  journey.  The  quickest  time  they  could  hope  to  make 
would  consume  fully  three  weeks,  and  provision  had  been  made 
for  the  comfort  of  each,  by  friends  stowing  away  in  their  bag- 
gage, the  requisites  for  any  emergency  they  could  imagine. 

Such  extensive  preparations  were  necessary  in  those  days, 
people  delaying^or  weeks,  that  new  suits,  linen,  stockings,  shoes 
might  be  manufactured  for  the  occasion,  yourneys  wei-e  eve?zts', 
now  at  a  moment's  notice  we  start  with  a  change  of  clothing, 
and  man's  best  friend,  a  well  filled  purse,  traveling  round  the 
world. 

After  a  month  or  more  of  anticipation,  without  unusual  in- 
cident, unless  we  call  the  placing  of  a  young  girl  in  the  care  of 
a  man  not  many  years  her  senior  for  so  long  a  time,  out  of  the 
ordinary  course  of  propriety,  Henry  Armstrong  arrived  with 
his  little  companion  one  sunny  afternoon  in  September,  at  the 
door  of  his  dead  uncle's  homestead,  and,  as  Effie  knew  the 
family,  both  were  cordially  greeted  by  the  aged  Grandmother, 
overjoyed  at  Henry's  coming.  She  had  been  quite  a  long  time 
dependent  upon  a  young  niece  for  care  and  company,  assisted 
by  a  man  named  Cronksey,  who,  living  with  her  son,  attending 
to  his  business  during  the  illness,  had  after  his  death  continued 
looking  to  the  affairs  of  the  estate;  which  now,  with  the  respon- 
sibility of  providing  for  the  old  lady,  belonged  to  Henry;  he, 
finding  the  niece  tidy,  capable  and  kind,  the  man  competent 
and  shrewd,  retained  them  in  his  service,  little  thinking  the  in- 
fluence this  decision  would  have  upon  his  whole  after  life. 

Besides  the  farm,  his  uncle  had  left  many  matters  unsettled, 
requiring  attention  all  the  winter  following  at  least,  if  Henry 
would  make  the  most  of  his  patrimony;  there  was  no  alternative, 
he  must  remain  in  Bentonville  instead  of  going  west  in  the  fall 
as  he  had  intended. 

Sorrowing  Lucille,  how  tedious  and  dreary  the  time  will 
seem  to  you  before  he  comes. 

If  the  winter  after  Myra's  death  dragged  wearily  to  Lucille 
so  also  did  it  to  Henry;  and  when  reminded  by  the  robin's  first 
song,  the   running  brooks  of   the  hillsides  fed  by  the   melting 


iy//0   WERE   TO  BLAME.  95 

snow  and  ice  of  the  uplands,  and  the  few  blades  of  bright  ver- 
dure appearing  here  and  there  in  the  warm  nooks,  of  the  near 
approach  of  spring^,  his  thoughts  turned  more  impatiently  than 
ever  towards  her  western  home. 

Other  matters  of  business  being  arranged  he  had  decided 
upon  leaving  his  uncle's  old  mother  in  undisturbed  possession 
of  the  homestead  during  her  life,  in  charge  of  the  man  Cronk- 
sey — the  niece  acting  as  housekeeper — at  least  while  he  prose- 
cuted his  contemplated  trip  to  the  new  and  distant  country  so 
often  discussed.  He  had  become  acquainted  in  the  course  of 
the  winter,  through  manifold  transactions,  with  several  eastern 
men  commanding  capital,  and  the  subject  of  going  west,  invest- 
ing some  money,  and  perhaps  laying  out  a  town  had  been 
talked  of  between  them. 

The  "Western  fever,"  instead  of  abating,  seemed  more 
wide-spread  than  ever,  the  fact  being  that  a  financial  panic  was 
imminent,  and  many  beginning  to  feel  the  premonitions,  were  un- 
easily endeavoring  to  better  their  condition. 

To  be  sure,  "  going  west "  had  not  yet  come  to  be  regarded 
a  panacea  for  all  the  ills  which  the  renowned  advice  of  the 
lamented  Horace  Greeley  afterwards  suggested;  but,  neverthe- 
less, was  then  considered  quite  the  thing  for  young  men  or 
those  wishing  from  any  cause  to  improve  their  circumstances. 

Long-headed,  calculating  men,  were  constantly  going  out 
prospecting,  taking  up  quarter  sections  in  good  localities,  laying 
out  towns  and  starting  settlements. 

Persons  with  even  a  small  amount  of  capital  and  sufficient 
enterprise,  could  from  the  start  draw  some  of  the  best  people 
of  older  communities  w^ith  them. 

Early  in  the  spring  Henry  inaugurated  such  an  expedition, 
and  a  half  dozen  or  more  formed  a  party  whose  destination  was 
a  short  distance  beyond  Freelawn;  though  he  carefully  avoided 
mentioning  a  further  interest  in  its  inhabitants  than  would  be 
indicated  by  the  information  that  a  number  of  his  Barrytown 
friends  had  gone  there,  and  quite  likely  he  might  stop  a  day  in 
passing  were  circumstances  favorable.  Far  was  it  from  his  in- 
tention that  any  should  suspect  a  tender  regard  on  his  part 
towards  anyone  in  that  quarter,  until  he  was  sure  how  Lucille 
would  receive  him.  She  misfht  be  married  for  augrht  he  knew. 
Information  was  transmitted  slowly  in  those  days,  and  scarcely 
anything  had  come  to  him  except  that  of  Myra's  death,  and 
this  only  casually;  but  the  thought  of  losing  Lucille  now  that 
he  was  certain  of  his  own  feeling,  the  fear  that  she  might  al- 


96  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

ready  belong  to  another  made  him  sick  at  heart,  and  he  promis- 
ed himself,  after  the  party  accomplished  the  end  for  which  they 
had  organized,  he  would  contrive  some  excuse  for  leaving 
them  and  return  by  way  of  Freelawn, 

What  a  circuitous  route  it  seemed  for  reaching  Lucille. 
Now  his  mind  was  settled  he  was  impatient  of  delay.  Steam 
or  compressed  air  would  not  be  too  swift  in  these  days  for  so 
ardent  a  lover. 

But  Henry  must  content  himself  with  a  mode  of  travel  like 
the  pace  of  a  snail;  first  the  Erie  Canal  to  be  traversed,  horses 
drawing  the  boats  along  a  path  on  the  brink;  then  proceeding 
in  the  cumbersome  stage-coach  for  weeks  over  roads  rough, 
often  muddy — going  always  slowly — the  monotony  broken 
only  w^hen  in  due  time  the  Lakes  were  reached,  the  party  cross- 
ing Lake  Michigan,  as  did  our  friends  from  Barrytown  before 
them,  and  also  stopping  a  short  time  in  Chicago.  This  won- 
derful town  had  made  rapid  strides  even  since  the  Grieveaus 
and  Gascoignes  passed  through;  but  to  Henry  it  contained 
nothing  of  interest,  and  remaining  over  night,  taking  the  morn- 
ing stage,  he  pushed  on,  finding  the  remainder  of  the  journey 
especially  tedious  and  unpleasant.  When  once  seated  in  the 
stage  there  was  no  relief  for  cramped  limbs  and  aching  head, 
except  as  they  waited  for  meals  or  to  water  the  horses.  Should 
any  desire  they  rested  by  night  at  the  taverns  along  the  road, 
but  many  proceeded  without  interruption.  From  day  to  day 
new  passengers  were  taken  up,  others  dropped;  and  as  they 
traveled  on  all  were  thumped  about  in  a  fearful  fashion;  shaken 
up  inside  the  vehicle  like  scraps  of  tin  in  a  baby's  rattle-box, 
furnishing  an  abundance  of  exercise. 

Fortunately  there  were  no  hills,  only  a  gradual  rise  and  de- 
scent now  and  then  over  a  bit  of  rolling  prairie;  but  pitch-holes 
and  mud-holes  were  often  encountered  into  which  the  horses 
w^ould  sink,  and  the  stage  bounce,  the  passengers  being  jerked  off 
their  seats  into  each  other's  laps,  then  again  coming  up  stand- 
ing, jamming  their  already  sorely  abused  heads  against  the  roof, 
as  the  top  was  called. 

A  trip  by  stage  was  exciting,  tiresome  and  even  dangerous 
when  the  road  was  rough  or  the  driver  had  taken  a  drop  too 
much  of  stimulants,  and  would  crack  his  long  whip  over  the 
horses  with  a  flourish,  in  his  endeavor  to  make  a  stir  in  the 
world. 

The  passengers  were  entirely  at  his  mercy  as  he  well  knew, 
feeling  his  importance  hugely. 


II //O  UEKE  TO  BLAME. 


S7 


Sweanng  at  the  horses  and  the  road,  with  cracking  whip 
loud  tooting  horn  and  the  bouncing,  thumping,  rattHng  stacJj 
coach  he  managed  to  make  more  commotion  and  fuss,  as  th?v 
passed  along  at  the  rate  of  five  or  six  miles  an  hour,  with  ten 
or  twelve  passengers  and  a  trunk  or  two,  than  forty  heavily 
laden  cars  drawn  by  resistless  force  do  now-a-days 

In  one  mstance  we  have  much  ado  and  very  small  results; 
in  the  other,  great  achievement  with  little  noise  or  pretension. 
Ihus  the  world  progresses,  opportunity  coming  to  all,  when 
the  fortunate  circumstance  presents,  wisdom  discerning,  speed- 
ily acting,  reaps  the  rewards;  though  Omnipotent  Power  will 
not  do  all  for  a  man,  he  must  himself  see  and  execute,  working 
out  his  own  salvation.  ^ 

Opportunity  came  to  Eben  when  he  might  have  straight- 
ened  the  tangled  thread  of  his  life,  and  saved  llisaster  and  mVch 
sorrow  but  he  failed  to  perceive  the  crisis,  until  the  time  had 
passed  for  administering  a  remedy.     Opportunity  is  coming  to 

w^f^;;:ss;r'^  '^  ^^^^^  ^'-^'^  ^-'  ^^^^^^  --'  ^^ 


98  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 


CHAPTER  XIIL 


JULES. 


The  summer  was  following  close  upon  the  spring,  the  in- 
creased heat  acting  upon  the  swamps  and  low  boggy  ground 
of  the  prairies  and  wood-bordered  streams,  which  had  overflow- 
ed their  banks  early  in  the  season,  covering  the  country  for  miles 
on  either  side  with  water,  besides  other  discomforts  causing 
malarial  fever,  ague  and  dangerous  sickness,  most  liable  to 
attack  the  weak  and  disheartened;  for  this  reason  Lucille's 
friends  were  becoming  very  anxious  because  of  her  failing 
health. 

Although  keeping  up  bravely  since  Myra's  death,  now  that 
the  hot  weather  was  again  becoming  intense,  she  showed  un- 
mistakable signs  of  wearing  out,  and  her  symptoms  were  ag- 
gravated by  the  constant  care  bestowed  upon  the  little  boy.  He 
was  over  a  year  old,  requiring  more  attention  than  is  usually 
necessary  with  children  of  that  age,  because  of  his  delicate  con- 
stitution, and  having  peculiarities,  the  result  of  the  mother's 
condition  shortly  before  his  birth;  especially  connected  with  the 
brain  fever  from  which  she  had  suffered,  affecting  the  child  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  render  him  extremely  nervous,  irritable  and 
troublesome. 

He  was  bright  enough,  even  too  quick  in  understanding  for 
one  of  his  age,  but  uneasy,  restless,  dissatisfied,  though  affection- 
ate and  not  diflicult  to  control,  unless  when  he  fixed  his  mmd 
upon  attaining  something  desired,  and  then  his  persistency  was 
phenomenal,  seeming  absolutely  without  calculation  as  to  con- 
sequences, leading  him  always  into  trouble,  unheard  of  predic- 
aments and  dangerous  places. 

He  had,  before  a  year  old,  enough  hair-breadth  escapes  to 
prove  conclusively  he  was  not  born  to  die  of  an  accident,  and 
he  surely  came  through  the  ailments  of  infancy  wonderfully 
well  for  a  child  not  naturally  strong;  the  doctors  said  soon  after 
his  birth  that  he  inherited  a  tendency  to  consumption,  for  he 
had  coughed  incessantly  from  the  first,  and  they  fully  expected 
him  to  die,  but  he  disappointed  them  and  lived; in  spite  of  every 
tiling  which  happened,  the  poor  little  fellow  held  to  life  with 


WHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  99 

the  grip  of  Fate,  the  pertinacity  of  destiny.  Was  it  Fate,  was 
it  destiny? 

Be  that  as  it  may,  the  whole  family  watched  and  tended  him 
untiringly  for  Myra's  sake;  at  last  they  ceased  to  fear  he 
would  die,  and  instead  came  to  think  nothing  would  kill  him, 
but  as  the  natural  result  of  continual  solicitude  their  hearts  were 
wrapped  up  in  the  welfare  of  the-unfortunate,  motherless  babe, 
and  it  was  plainly  seen  that  this  in  addition  to  her  other  troubles, 
was  wearing  sadly  upon  his  Aunt  Lucille. 

Mother  Brewster  declared  she  must  have  a  change.  Her 
father  and  Uncle  Tut  knew  that  more  than  the  oversight  and 
worry  with  the  child  was  telling  upon  her,  but  they  kept  their 
own  counsel. 

Sad  eyed,  wearily  she  watched  for  the  incoming  Eastern 
stage,  and  the  opening  of  the  mail. 

As  the  hour  arrived  she  would  arrange  her  hair  unlike  any 
one  else,  but  becoming  to  her  sweet  face,  don  the  neat  gown, 
displaying  by  its  very  simplicity,  her  trim,  round,  perfectly 
developed  figure  to  the  best  advantage ;  the  small,  white  throat 
rising  from  the  close  collar,  bearing  the  symmetrical  head  as  a 
drooping  flower  on  its  stalk;  for  Lucille  tried  to  hide  her  tell- 
tale face  from  view,  but  the  bowed  head  and  shaded  eyes  only 
said  the  story  plainer. 

Day  after  day,  as  the  time  drew  near  for  the  expected  stage, 
Lucille  was  ready,  herself,  and  the  pleasant  Western  home,  wild 
branches,  vines  and  flowers,  wherever  a  place  could  be  found 
for  decoration;  every  room  and  article  in  perfect  oxA^x^Jor  pos- 
sibly Henry  7night  co??ie  at  last. 

Patiently,  with  heart  full  of  love  and  trust,  hoping  against 
all  past  experience,  the  little  woman  looked  eagerly  forward  to 
the  arrival  of  the  stage,  but  when  the  rattle  and  flourish  sub- 
sided, and  she  neither  saw  Henry  or  received  any  message  from 
him,  prostrated  with  grief,  broken-hearted,  she  would  get  away 
to  her  own  room,  avoiding  the  notice  of  those  who  loved  her, 
and,  alone,  give  way  to  emotion  uncontrollable;  then,  after  a 
time  recovering,  go  about  her  duties  quietly  as  before. 

But  such  a  life  as  this  was  past  human  endurance  and  could 
not  last  much  longer,  they  all  understood  the  trouble  now,  and 
grew  to  be  very  considerate.  When  she  had  experienced  her 
daily  disappointment  and  gone  away  grieving  by  herself,  one 
of  the  family  would  come  up  softly  with  the  boy  or  Gertrude 
as  an  excuse,  and  divert  her  attention. 

Eben  was  kinder  than  ever,  often  contriving  a  ride  for  her 


100  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

and  the  children,  sometimes  he  would  accompany  them;  but 
Lucille  being  an  accomplished  horse-woman,  preferred  holding 
the  reins  herself,  as  she  found  the  drive  more  exhilarating. 
Many  a  pleasant  jaunt  they  had,  and  this  recreation  was  of 
much  benefit;  but  all  the  efforts  of  her  friends  could  not  restore 
her  feeble  strength.  Nature  asserted  itself  at  last  and  Lucille's 
health  gave  way.  After  consulting  together  in  her  behalf,  the 
unanimous  decision  of  the  family  was  that  she  must  go  out  to 
the  farm  for  a  while.  Her  consent  could  only  be  obtained  by 
insisting  that  the  boy  should  have  a  taste  of  country  living  and 
country  air;  the  atmosphere  of  the  little  town  situated  on  the 
sluggish  stream  being  very  different  from  the  sweeping  breeze 
of  the  rolling  prairie  where  Uncle  Tut  had  located  his  claim ; 
and  the  cool  spring  water  was  wonderfully  invigorating,  not 
mentioning  the  foamy  milk  fresh  from  the  sleek,  contented 
cows;  even  this,  they  all  declared,  was  better  than  that  from 
their  own,  because  Julia's  cows  had  free  access  to  the  brook  flow- 
ing from  the  famous  spring.  All  these  enticements  prevailed, 
and  Lucille  concluded  to  go  for  a  few  weeks;  ashamed  to  own 
the  only  comfort  in  life  for  her,  consisted  in  watching  the  daily 
arrival  of  the  eastern  stage;  but  she  was  sorely  tried  at  tearing 
herself  away  from  the  place,  her  own  chamber  window,  where 
she  should  see  Henry  the  instant  he  came — if  he  ever  came! 
She  was  beginning  at  last  to  entertain  this  view  of  the  case,  and 
to  let  the  thought  obtrude  occasionally  upon  her  sick  heart,  that 
possibly  after  all,  Henry  might. not  come — but  she  was  too 
weak — she  dared  not  dwell  upon  it  for  more  than  a  moment,  and 
drove  it  away  so  soon  as  it  came  to  her  mind.  She  still  believed 
that  some  time  Henry  would  surely  come,  she  was  certain  he 
did  love  her  once  dearly,  and  could  not  understand  how  love 
should  entirely  die  out,  even  from  the  heart  of  a  man,  but  in 
her  sorrow  would  cry  beseechingly:  "  Why  are  men  so  fickle? 
Why  do  they  wreck  the  lives  of  those  whose  love  is  constant 
and  pure?  " 

Dear,  tormented  little  woman,  sadly  was  a  change  needed, 
and  the  very  next  morning  after  she  agreed  to  make  the  visit, 
Eben  brought  the  spring  wagon  to  the  door  in  good  time,  that 
they  might  accomplish  their  short  journey  before  the  noon 
meal. 

Lucille  had  been  over  to  the  farm  since  her  brother  lived 
there  several  times,  and  the  pleasant  views  stretching  as  far  as 
the  eye  could  reach,  spreading  before  and  around  them,  from 
the  summit  of  each  rise  in  the  land  over  which  they  were  driv- 


117/0   WERE   TO  BLAME.  101 

ing,  was  not  new  to  her;  but  the  lovely  expanse  of  picturesque 
greenness,  and  the  fresh  morning  air,  were  cheering  and  restful 
to  her  feeble  body  and  fainting  heart. 

Upon  their  arrival  all  made  haste  to  welcome  them;  the 
really  kind-hearted  Julia  stirring  busily  about,  prepared  a  com- 
fortable dinner  of  the  best  the  place  afforded. 

Brother  John  seemed  a  different  man  now  that  he  had  re- 
covered from  the  effects  of  dissipation;  Julia  acting  the  part  of 
a  true  wife  so  far  as  she  was  capable. 

His  friends  had  advised  him  to  remain  away  from  the  village 
and  temptation,  and  thus  it  happened  he  had  not  seen  his  sister 
during  the  time  she  was  visibly  failing. 

Dr.  Gascoigne  had  been  out  a  few  days  before,  telling  them 
what  he  surmised  of  Lucille's  trouble;  but  John  was  not  pre- 
pared for  the  recent  change  in  her  appearance,  she  looked  like 
a  drooping  flower,  so  weak  and  sad,  yet  patient  and  lovely. 
The  strong  western  farmer  took  his  little  sister  in  his  arms  and 
burst  into  tears,  his  honest  heart  throbbing  w^ith  indignation  at 
all  she  must  have  suffered.  He  was  sure  she  did  not  deserve 
this  sorrow,  for  Lucille  w^as  not  one  to  be  unreasonable  with  a 
lover.  Henry  Armstrong  must  have  turned  from  his  sweet, 
lovmg  sister  because  of  mere  fickleness,  and  this  devoted  brother 
thought  of  pistols  and  horse-whips;  he'd  teach  the  good-for- 
nothing  fellow  to  trifle  w^ith  a  woman's  affections  if  he  ever  had 
a  chance  at  him ;  but,  strangely  enough,  when  the  opportunity 
was  unexpectedly  presented,  John  failed  to  perceive  it  or  that 
villainous  Fate  looking  over  his  shoulder  chuckling. 

After  Julia's  well-cooked  dinner  was  disposed  of,  Eben  made 
ready  for  his  return. 

Julia  must  needs  send  for  Aunt  Debby  and  Grandma  Brew- 
ster a  roll  of  her  choicest  butter,  and  some  fresh  wild  straw- 
berries, which  she  had  gathered  that  morning  for  preserving. 
John  brought  a  dear  little  kitten  for  Gertrude;  Uncle  Tut  in- 
sisted on  providing  a  pair  of  young  banties  for  her,  and  a  magnifi- 
cent shanghai  for  Grandpa  Gascoigne. 

Pleasant  good  byes  were  said,  and  having  innumerable  mes- 
sages intrusted  to  him  which  he  forgot  before  turning  the  lane 
into  the  road,  Eben  drove  away;  Julia  proceeding  to  install 
Lucille  in  the  neat  room  reserved  for  her  adjoining  the  sitting 
room. 

The  fresh,  white  curtains,  edged  with  dainty  ruffles,  at  the 
window;  the  half-circle  toilet  table  placed  under  the  old-fashion- 
ed mirror  with  its  gilded  frame,  which  had  been  handed  down 


102  THE  STALWARTS;    OK, 

from  mother  to  daughter  for  generations,  was  of  home  manu- 
facture, and  finished  with  the  same  cool  looking,  white  ruffled 
drapery;  the  clean  bed,  the  comfortable  chair,  which  Julia  with 
John's  help  had  made  from  an  old  flour  barrel,  cutting  it  down 
the  right  height,  fitting  in  the  head  for  the  seat,  leaving  half 
still  uncut  for  the  back,  covering  all  with  pretty  chintz ;  with 
these  simple  articles  Julia  had  neatly  and  ingeniously  furnished, 
— and  rendered  her  guest's  room  very  inviting. 

In  this  retreat,  while  Julia  looked  after  the  boy,  Lucille 
rested,  pondered,  dozed,  finally  slept  and  dreamed.  Dreamed 
that  Henry  came  and  looked  at  her  with  the  old  love-light  in 
his  eyes,  that  a  dark,  dreary  shadow  passed  between,  and  then, 
Henry  turning  away — she  saw  him  no  more  forever.  With  a 
start  she  awoke  to  find  herself  prostrated,  almost  fainting  with 
the  heat  of  the  summer's  day;  and  the  sad  memories  stirred  by 
her  dream,  did  not  serve  to  strengthen  her. 

They  all  realized  how  weak  she  was,  and  great  her  need  of 
help.  John  especially  exerted  himself  for  his  sister's  entertain- 
ment, taking  her  that  very  afternoon  when  the  sun  was  low 
and  the  evening  breeze  gathering,  to  the  spring,  where  they 
had  built  a  dairy  house  for  the  milk  and  cream  and  butter,  of 
which  Julia  was  justly  proud. 

Lucille  enjoyed  watching  her  strain  and  set  the  milk  as  she 
brought  It  foaming,  drawn  by  her  own  hands  from  the  gentle 
cows,  John  and  Uncle  Tut  doing  their  share  with  the  hard  milk- 
ers; afterwards  when  her  strength  allowed  Lucille  assisted  in  the 
care  of  the  dairy,  skimming  the  luscious  cream  into  the  cool, 
stone  jars  placed  on  the  pebbly  bottom  of  the  running  brook, 
where  every  article  needed  for  the  milk  and  cream  and  butter, 
must  be  rinsed  immediately  when  used. 

Lucille  also  interested  herself  in  the  cows  themselves  for 
their  own  sakes,  as  well  as  the  products  yielded.  Each  of  the 
family  had  their  special  favorite  in  the  herd,  and  she  soon  learn- 
ed their  names  and  peculiarities.  They  were  not  what  are  call- 
ed high-bred,  five  thousand  dollar  cows,  in  the  ownership  of 
which  fashionable  city  dames  sometimes  indulge  as  well  as 
fancy  farmers;  but  just  ordinary  cows,  brindled,  white,  spotted, 
and  red,  with  curved,  crooked  or  crumpled  horns,  sometimes  no 
horns  at  all,  "mooley  cows"  they  called  them.  But  Julia's 
cows  were  well  pastured,  kindly  treated,  and  with  the  pure 
spring  water  to  drink  their  fill,  winter  and  summer,  what  won- 
der with  such  cows,  and  facilities  for  the  manufacture  of  their 
rich  product  into  golden  butter  and  choice  cheese,  if  Julia  Gas- 


WJ/O  WERE  TO  BLAME.  108 

coigne's  dairy  was  famed  far  and  near.  And  she  never  scrimp- 
ed her  family  of  cream  either.  Cows  were  cheap,  pasturts 
broad,  the  butter  market  overstocked,  transportation  impossible, 
and  cream  was  freely  used  in  many  ways  long  since  forgotten, 
which  an  epicure  might  envy.  The  white,  mealy  potatoes  when 
baked,  spread  with  thick  cream  instead  of  butter,  with  the  ad- 
dition of  a"  little  salt,  could  not  be  surpassed  ;  and  they  had  cream 
gravy  for  the  crisp,  sweet,  fried*  pork,  corn  fed  and  healthy ; 
with  tender  chickens  fried  as  only  southern  or  western  house- 
wives know  how,  on  lettuce  fresh  from  Julia's  well  tended 
garden;  of  course  on  all  berries  ni  season;  as  for  green  peas 
and  string  beans  picked  with  the  dew  on  the  vines  and  served 
with  plenty  of  rich  cream,  what  could  be  more  delicious? 

Certainly  there  was  some  compensation  in  the  prairie  home, 
for  all  they  had  left  with  so  much  regret  two  years  before  in 
Barrytown.  Everything  grew"  thriftily  in  the  black  virgm  loam, 
there  was  enough  and  to  spare,  so  much  land  to  be  had  for  the 
taking  up  they  could  not  cultivate  it  all  even  should  natural 
avarice  prompt,  and  this  was  not  a  trait  of  these  early  settlers. 
Their  life  on  those  vast  prairies  broadened  their  hearts,  making 
them  generous  and  hospitable.  Much  of  the  same  spirit  has 
descended  to  their  children.  A  man  or  woman  growing  up  in 
the  West  with  a  stingy,  contracted  soul,  must  have  inherited 
these  qualities  from  some  away-down-east  Yankee,  who  lived 
where  they  had  to  raise  their  crops  between  the  stones,  on  the 
side  of  a  hill  at  a  slant  of  forty-five  degrees.  No  wonder  they 
count  the  beans. 

Besides  the  spring,  the  dairy  and  the  garden,  Lucille  was 
greatly  pleased  with  the  poultry  which  Julia  had  raised;  turkeys, 
ducks,  geese  and  no  end  of  chickens. 

Every  morning  and  evening  the  two  women,  accornpanied 
by  little  Jules,  as  they  had  named  Myra's  boy,  would  scatter 
corn  and  oats  for  them,  not  forgetting  the  nice  pan  of  wet  meal 
for  the  young  broods,  the  callow  turkeys,  ducks  and  goslings, 
and  for  the  little  chicks. 

Jules  felt  himself  quite  a  man,  now  that  he  was  allowed  to 
run  about  out  of  doors,  and  they  no  longer  called  him  the  baby, 
and  would  fill  his  blue  checked  apron  with  corn  and  oats,  spill- 
ing nearly  all  before  he  reached  the  barn-yard,  but  tossing  what 
remained  gleefully  in  his  now  chubby  hands,  jumping  up  and 
down,  yelling  with  delight  to  see  the  eager  crowd  picking  up 
the  kernels.  Partly  too,  with  fear,  when  the  great  cocks  flap- 
ped their  wings  and    crowed ;  when  the  ducks  and  geese  came 


104  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

with  their  clatter,  clatter,  squak,  squak,  and  when  the  old  tur- 
key-cocks streached  their  hideous  red  and  blue  necks,  spreading 
their  enormous  wings  and  tails,  strutting  about  with  their  ugly 
gobble,  gobble,  gobble,  the  little  fellow  would  run  screaming 
and  hide  his  face  in  Aunt  Lucille's  apron.  But  next  time  he  was 
just  as  eager  to  go  with  them,  when  the  poultry  were  to  be  fed. 

Though  dismayed,  not  conquered;  though  frightened,  not 
overcome;  a  persistency  which  became  a  predominant  character- 
istic as  he  grew  to  maturity. 

All  this  diversion,  change  of  surroundings,  and  the  pleasant 
occupation,  took  Lucille's  mind  in  some  degree  from  her  trouble. 
Brother  John  and  Uncle  Tut  were  fond  of  children,  and  look- 
ed after  the  boy  when  they  could  do  so  without  interfering  with 
their  work.  Soon  Jules  would  stay  with  no  one  else,  if  he  had 
his  way.  Lucille  found  this  a  relief  to  her  overtasked  strength, 
which  she  hardly  realized  the  need  of  until  the  change  came. 
The  diet  furnished  by  Julia  must  have  nourished  one  less  able 
to  assimilate,  and  soon  from  these  combining  causes,  Lu- 
cille's friends  saw,  with  extreme  gratification,  that  she  was  be- 
ginning to  improve  in  health — really  gaining  flesh,  and  looking 
somewhat  "like  the  plump  little  sister  of  old,"  John  said  txult- 
ingly. 

Jules,  too,  was  enjoying  his  visit;  there  were  so  many  ways 
for  him  to  get  hurt  or  into  mischief  at  home,  he  had  been  kept 
most  of  the  time  in  Aunt  Lucille's  room,  and  he  now  more  fully 
appreciated  his  freedom. 

He  had  not  been  allowed  to  run  in  the  store  or  the  street, 
for  they  could  never  keep  things  out  of  his  reach  in  the  store, 
and  small  as  the  town  was  occasional  teams  were  passing,  and, 
if  in  the  street,  he  was  sure  to  be  under  the  wheels. 

Aunt  Debby  would  not  have  him  in  the  kitchen,  she  de- 
clared "  he  was  worse  than  the  cat,"  and  she  came  near  killing 
her  a  dozen  times  a  day;  no  indeed,  you  may  be  sure  Aunt 
Debby  would  not  be  bothered  with  a  "young  'un" — she  was  too 
much  of  a  "  worker  and  driver  "  for  such  nonsense  as  coddling 
children  or  petting  cats;  even  Gertrude's  kittens  were  continu- 
ally disappearing,  she  managing  to  supply  the  place  of  each  as 
they  died  or  strayed  away.  As  for  poor  little  mischievous  Jules, 
he  had  not  yet  developed  the  winning  ways  necessary  to  con- 
quer Aunt  Debby. 

The  result  of  all  this  had  been  that  at  home  after  Myra's 
death,  Lucille  devoting  herself  to  the  child  to  keep  him  out  of 
everybody's  way,  scarcely  allowing  herself  any  recreation  and 


IV//0   WERE   TO  BLAME.  105 

brooding  over  her  trouble,  had  come  near  follownig  her  be- 
loved sister  to  the  last  resting  place.  Now  she  was  gaining 
cheerfulness  and  strength,  and  seemed  almost  her  former  self, 
but  the  sore  spot  in  her  heart  was  still  there,  and  the  slightest 
probing  would  set  it  bleeding  again. 

Unfortunately,  the  old  wound  was  opened  wide  before  Lu- 
cille finished  her  visit. 


106  THE  STALWARTS;  OH, 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE    FIGHT    AT    THE    CLAIM. 

Uncle  Tut  was  all  this  time  full  of  anxiety  because  of  his 
disagreeable  neighbor,  and  gave  little  attention  to  anything  else. 
He  had  done  all  he  could  for  his  friends  and  now  left  them  to 
care  for  themselves  and  amuse  each  other  as  they  pleased. 

His  neighbor  never  forgave  him  for  returning  just  in  time 
to  prevent  the  "jumping  "  of  his  claim,  and  had  threatened  all 
the  spring  to  go  to  law;  finally  bringing  suit  for  possession. 

The  case  soon  coming  up  for  trial  when  Lucille  went  for 
her  visit  at  the  farm.  Uncle  Tut  was  spending  much  time  in 
town  with  Dr.  Gascoigne  and  Eben  Grieveau. 

At  last  the  trial  commenced,  and  the  man,  Silas  Smith, 
swore  that  he  had  lived  in  the  cabin  with  his  wife  (as  he  called 
the  woman  who  kept  house  for  him)  during  the  winter;  and 
also  early  spring,  but  that  they  were  away  visiting  when  Uncle 
Tut  arrived.  The  woman  testified  to  the  same  facts,  explain- 
ing that  the  few  articles  necessary  for  housekeeping  had  been 
packed  in  a  large  box  and  left  with  their  comrade,  Doc  by  name, 
who  lived  in  the  cabin  on  adjoining  land,  for  safe  keeping,  and 
that  some  repairs  might  be  made  on  their  own  cabin  before 
their  return. 

The  man  called  Doc.  corroborated  these  stories,  and  swore 
in  addition  that  he  owned  the  land  adjoining  and  also  the  cabin. 
No  one  believed  this  testimony  to  be  true,  but  the  man  Silas 
Smith  had  made  out  his  case  and  Uncle  Tut  had  no  contrary 
proof. 

The  story  was  plausible  as  to  the  housekeeping,  for  in  those 
primitive  days  in  furnishing  these  cabins,  beds  were  simply 
bunks  built  against  the  wall,  tables  the  same,  and  a  short  board 
with  sticks  driven  into  the  four  corners,  slanting  out  a  Httle, 
served  in  place  of  chairs.  These  articles  were  left  in  the  cabin 
by  Uncle  Tut  surely,  and  he  found  them  upon  his  return. 

Notwithstanding  the  earnest  efforts  of  the  lawyer  and  story- 
teller of  the  storm  on  the  lake  and  his  buisness  partner,  who 
happened  in  Freelawn  (it  being  the  County  seat)  on  other  court 
business,  and  whose  services  were  secured  for  the  defendant 
through  their  mutual   friend,   Dr.  Gascoigne,  the  Judge   was 


IV J/ O  WERE  TO  BLAME.  107 

obliged  on  the  proof  to  decide  the  case  in  favor  of  Silas  Smith, 
and  nothing  remained  but  to  vacate  the  premises  or  appeal. 
Uncle  Tut  pursued  the  latter  course,  hoping  something  w^ould 
eventually  occur  to  reverse  the  decision. 

You  may  be  sure  Dr.  Gascoigne  did  not  neglect  tendering 
the  hospitality  of  his  home  to  his  friend  the  lawyer  and  his 
companion  during  their  stay  in  Freelaw^n,  and  it  was  difficult  to 
say  whether  little  Gertrude  clung  more  closely  to  Grandpa, 
Uncle  Tut  and  this  genial  and  wonderful  man,  or  to  the  new 
friend  she  found  in  the  gentleman  who  accompanied  him. 
You  will  remember  the  bashful  child  w^ho  usually  feared  stran- 
gers trusted  her  friend  of  the  storm-tossed  ship  as  she  did  Uncle 
Tut,  men  so  unlike,  iinplicitly  from  the  first  moment,  as  she 
now  did  the  new-comer.  Time  proved  that  a  strong  bond  ex- 
isted between  these  men  and  the  tim.id  little  girl,  developing  a 
life-long  attraction  and  understanding  of  each  other,  which 
helped  them  in  searching  out  and  unraveling  a  great  mystery. 

After  the  conclusion  of  the  trial,  the  Smith  party,  elated  with 
their  temporary  success,  left  the  court  room,  vowing  "they'd 
have  the  claim,  live  or  die,  without  waiting  for  another  law-suit 
either,"  and  off  they  went  to  the  grocery  on  the  corner,  filling 
themselves  to  the  brim  with  bad  whisky,  taking  a  jug  and 
bottle  or  two  besides,  then  starting  for  home,  women  and  all, 
roaring  drunk. 

Uncle  Tut  did  not  like  the  out-look;  he  was  not  a  coward, 
and  had  no  intention  any  one  should  think  he  was,  but  he  took 
Eben  quietly  one  side,  and  requested  that  he  accompany  him 
home.  Eben  consented,  and  prepared  to  do  so  without  unneces- 
sary delay,  being  careful  to  place  his  trusty  rifle  in  the  w^agon 
with  plenty  of  ammunition,  and  also  Dr.  Gascoigne's  old  gun,  in 
case  Uncle  Tut  should  need  to  use  it  before  they  reached  the 
cabin  where  his  own  hung  suspended  from  iron  hooks  driven 
deep  into  the  logs. 

The  men  were  soon  on  their  way,  having  avoided  arousing 
apprehension  on  the  part  of  Dr.  Gascoigne,  who  was  quite 
feeble  and  could  not  endure  much  worry ;  neither  did  they  care 
to  have  their  tow^n  folks  know  they  felt  a  shadow  of  fear  re- 
garding the  drunken  rabble  which  had  preceded  them. 

After  starting,  the  two  men  drove  rapidly  along  and  were 
soon  out  of  sight  of  the  village;  for  they  wished  to  reach  home 
before  the  reckless  crew,  and  prepare  for  any  mischief  they 
might  concoct. 

They  expected  it  would  be  about  sun-dow^n  when  they  ar- 


108  THE  STALWARTS;   OR. 

rived  and  hoped  John  might  have  the  chores  done,  the  cattle 
and  horses  taken  care  of,  and  that  the  family  would  be  together, 
in  or  near  the  house. 

The  country  being  open  prairie,  broken  by  a  slight 
rise  now  and  then,  barely  sufficient  to  hide  a  team  traveling 
along  the  road,  but  giving  no  opportunity  for  outwitting  an 
enemy  by  strategy,  their  only  hope  consisted  in  having  the 
lightest  load,  the  fastest  horses  and  no  liquor  on  board,  outside 
or  inside. 

Eben  had  suggested  as  they  were  harnessing  up,  that  Uncle 
Tut's  hard  worked  animals  be  left  in  the  stalls,  and  that  they 
take  his  fast  bays;  fortunate  they  found  the  change,  for  the  dif- 
ference in  speed  became  a  matter  of  life  and  death  before  the 
race  was  finished. 

Not  wishing  an  open  encounter,  they  kept  far  enough  and 
yet  near,  behind  the  rowdies,  so  that  an  occasional  eminence 
might  cover  them  from  view,  until  the  dusk  of  evening  coming 
on,  hoping  thus  to  evade  discovery  while  overtaking  them, 
when  a  dash  ahead  would  enable  the  preparation  of  a  warm 
reception,  should  the  villains  attempt  to  vent  their  wrath  upon 
arrival. 

This  plan  was  easy  of  accomplishment,  for  quite  a  distance 
after  leaving  town  the  country  was  somewhat  rolling,  and  the 
river  which  must  be  crossed,  bordered  by  a  piece  of  timber  on 
either  side,  so  that  they  could  follow  closely  without  being 
seen. 

The  men  rode  along  anxiously,  and  at  dusk  were  so  near 
the  drunken  load  in  front,  they  could  hear  them  bragging  what 
they'd  do  for  mischief,  after  reaching  Uncle  Tut's  claim. 

Threats  of  violence  could  be  plainly  heard  wafted  on  the 
still,  dewy  air.  They  were  intoxicated  to  ugliness,  but 
not  yet  incapacitated  for  planning  evil.  Uncle  Tut's  blood 
grew  hot  when  he  heard  them  tell  how  "they'd  string  him 
up  to  the  rafters  of  his  own  barn,  and  turn  whiskey  down  the 
gullet  of  that  whining  temperance  teetotaler,  John  Gascoigne, 
until  he  couldn't  stand,  and  scare  the  women  near  about  to 
death,  and  send  them  running  into  town,  little  brat  and  all; 
oh!  they'd  have  lots  of  fun  before  morning." 

Thus  the  scoundrels  rattled  on  with  their  bragadocio,  un- 
able fully  to  understand  the  enormity  of  their  own  wicked 
folly. 

Uncle  Tut  was  boiling  over  with  rage,  "Da-dam  the  vi- 
villains,"  he   whispered  to  Eben,  "gi-give    me    th-that  gun  o' 


117/0   WERE   TO  BLAME  lO'J 

yourn  I-I  say,  an'  let  me  put  a  bii-bullet  through  the  rascal-ly 
crowd." 

"No,  Uncle  Tut,  I  won't,  you  must  keep  still  for  awhile 
yet,"  answered  the  cooler  headed  Eben — "we  shall  have  need 
enough  of  powder  and  bullets  before  we  get  through,  I  fear." 

Finally,  just  as  they  passed  the  last  rise  of  land  and  Uncle 
Tut  was  about  to  break  out  again,  Eben  gave  the  word,  and  a 
peculiar,  low  noise,  which  the  team  seemed  to  understand,  sent 
them  flying  pellmell  past  the  surprised  load  of  drunken  des- 
peradoes in  front,  who  plied  their  whips  vigorously  and  yelled 
with  all  their  might,  but  to  no  purpose;  they  had  the  heaviest 
load,  a  lumber  wagon,  tired  horses,  and  though  using  strenuous 
endeavor,  keeping  up  the  race  until  Eben  drove  into  the  yard, 
his  spirited  team  could  not  be  overtaken. 

Fortunately  John  saw  them  coming,  and  divining  at  a  glance 
something  serious,  immediately  at  his  command,  the  women 
rushed  in  doors,  carrying  the  child,  who  had  been  watching 
Aunt  Lucille  feed  the  poultry,  wnth  them, 

John,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  put  up  the  bars  after  Eben 
had  entered,  before  the  others  could  get  through.  Uncle  Tut 
sprang  from  the  light  wagon  at  the  instant  when  Eben  had 
reined  in  the  excited  horses  to  a  stop,  opened  wide  the  barn 
doors,  and  in  they  went,  wagon  and  all.  Not  waiting  to  unhitch, 
they  had  barred,  bolted  and  locked  the  barn,  succeeding  in  reach- 
ing the  house  when  the  marauders  drove  into  the  yard. 

Quickly  the  doors  and  windows  were  fastened,  the  w^indows 
covered  with  heavy  wooden  shutters,  and  by  the  time  the  last 
one  had  alighted  the  little  home  was  in  a  state  of  seige,  for 
possession  was,  in  this  case,  nine  points  of  the  law. 

Those  inside  labored  to  be  sure  under  the  disadvantage  of  be- 
ing on  the  defensive;  w^hile  those  on  the  outside,  could  without 
hindrance  start  almost  any  imaginable  deviltry  that  bad  w^hisky 
could  help  men  devise,  and  they  improved  their  opportunity. 

First  they  attempted  battering  down  the  doors  and  windows 
of  the  house,  then  they  assailed  the  barn  doors,  and  failing  in 
these  projects,  started  to  slaughter  all  the  poultry,  but  really 
only  killed  a  chicken  or  two,  and  set  the  ducks  and  'geese 
squaking,  and  the  old  turkeys  cocks  gobbling  and  strutting 
about  with  the  importance  of  the  idea  that  they  were  to  protect 
the  whole  barn-yard  brood. 

Then  they  tore  up  the  nicely  tended  garden,  even  destroy- 
ing the  flowers  and  shrubbery  about  the  house,  twisting  off  the 


110  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

voung  fruit  trees  of  which  John  and  Uncle  Tut  were  so  proud, 
in  pure  spite  and  vandalism. 

At  last  they  began  to  talk  of  setting  fire  to  the  barn;  at  this 
Uncle  Tut  and  Eben  made  ready  to  shoot  from  the  little  attic 
window  above  the  living-room,  should  they  attempt  an  execu- 
tion of  their  threat. 

The  party  being  so  drunk  as  not  to  realize  all  they  were 
doing,  Eben  insisted  upon  refraining  from  firing  unless  the 
emergency  of  some  greater  outrage  than  had  yet  been  perpe- 
trated demanded  such  action. 

His  was  the  mistake  so  often  made  in  war,  legal  and  other- 
wise, of  not  fighting  hard  enough  at  the  beginning,  with  the 
result  almost  invariably  following  as  in  this  case,  that  leniency 
before  the  end  costs  dearly.  Had  a  shot  or  two  been  fired  at  the 
first,  showing  the  villains  they  meant  to  fight  in  earnest  if  pushed 
to  it,  the  fright  would  have  cooled  their  angry,  drunken  ardor 
perhaps,  and  they  might  have  desisted;  but  Uncle  Tut  and 
Eben  were  content  to  watch  them  quietly  from  their  station  at 
the  window,  John  attending  to  the  women  and  child  below,  at 
least  for  the  present.  The  evening  was  now  advancing  into  the 
night,  and  though  fussing  about  for  a  while  longer,  threatening 
what  they  would  do,  but  accomplishing  nothing  serious,  the  as- 
sailants, after  a  noisy,  unintelligable  consultation,  getting  into 
their  wagon  drove  away. 

John,  Eben  and  the  women  thought  the  trouble  was  over; 
but  Uncle  Tut  said,  "  No,  they  would  come  back,  he  felt  cer- 
tain." 

After  waiting  a  little  to  make  sure  they  had  gone  at  least  as 
far  as  their  own  claim,  Eben  and  John  went  to  the  barn,  took 
out  the  horses,  still  hitched  to  the  wagon,  and  drove  down  to 
the  far-pasture,  where  they  unharnessed  and  tethered  them  se- 
curely to  some  stakes  which  had  been  driven  for  that  purpose 
before  the  fence  was  built;  taking  this  precaution  in  view  of  a 
possibility  of  the  barn  being  burnt. 

Barely  had  they  reached  the  house  again,  where  a  terrible 
noise  was  heard  outside,  tin-horns,  tin  pans,  cow-bells,  dogs 
barking,  men  hallowing  and  swearing,  and  with  an  occasional 
shot  fired  towards  the  house;  pandemonium  seemed  let  loose. 

Soon  the  marauders  commenced  battering  the  doors  again, 
evidently  intending  to  frighten  the  beseiged  party  into  a  sur- 
render. 

John  and  Uncle  Tut  could  be  kept  still  no  longer,  and  in 
spite  of  the  cool  advice  of  Eben,  they  insisted  upon  firing  into 


ll'I/O   WERE   TO  BEAME.  Ill 

the  crowd ;  someone  was  wounded,  and  instantly  the  people  out- 
side became  fearfully  excited,  exasperated  to  frenzy,  and  com- 
menced mischief  in  good  earnest.  They  placed  their  guns 
wherever  they  could  find  a  crack  between  the  logs,  at  the  key- 
holes, anywhere,  and  fired  away.  The  cabin  being  so  small 
there  was  little  chance  of  escaping  the  bullets  which  came  thick 
and  fast.  Those  outside  had,  it  was  plain,  provided  themselves 
with  plenty  of  powder  and  shot  as  well  as  whiskey. 

At  last  Uncle  Tut  took  Lucille  and  Jules  up  the  ladder  into 
the  loft,  Julia  following,  for  they  hoped  thus  to  escape  harm. 
Uncle  Tut  again  stationed  himself  in  the  attic  window,  thinking 
to  get  some  good  shots  at  the  rascals  from  this  quarter  should 
they  come  round  to  execute  their  threat  as  to  the  barn.  John 
and  Eben  remained  below,  fearing  the  wretches  might  break  in 
the  doors,  strongly  as  they  were  made  and  bolted. 

Lucille,  in  her  weak  condition,  was  now  nearly  dead  with 
fright;  but  neither  of  the  w^omen  made  the  slightest  noise,  al- 
though it  required  all  their  tact  to  keep  little  Jules  even  passably 
quiet;  strangely  enough  he  did  not  scream  or  seem  frightened 
by  the  confusion  as  most  children  would  have  done,  but  per- 
sisted in  trying  to  run  about,  clapping  his  hands,  jumping  up 
and  dow^n,  laughing  with  glee,  really  enjoying  the  excitement. 
They  succeeded  in  controlling  him  after  awhile,  and  the  women 
and  child  crowded  into  the  farthest  corner  of  the  dark  attic, 
while  Uncle  Tut  noted  an  observation  from  the  window. 

Very  soon  a  man  came  round  with  a  lighted  wisp  of  straw, 
attempting  to  fire  the  barn.  Uncle  Tut  covered  him  with  the 
muzzle  of  his  trusty  rifle,  the  man  dropped  quick  as  thought, 
groaned  and  lay  still,  but  was  not  dead. 

When  the  crowd  heard  the  shot  from  this  new  quarter,  and 
the  groans  from  their  fallen  companion,  they  came  rushing 
around  to  the  side  of  the  house  wildly,  and  upon  realizing  the 
situation  were  furious.  At  that  window  they  were  determined 
to  come  cost  what  it  might. 

As  this  was  impossible  without  a  ladder,  and  none  could  be 
found  outside,  they  tried  breaking  into  the  barn,  which,  failing 
to  accomplish,  but  finding  a  low  thed  with  a  thatched  roof  of 
straw  built  against  it  on  the  side  farthest  from  the  house  where 
the  shots  could  not  reach  them,  they  soon  had  the  threatened 
fire  under  headway,  and  forcing  their  way  through  the  shed  un- 
daunted by  the  flames,  secured  a  short  ladder.  Elated  and 
shouting  curses  at  the  top  of  their  voices,  they  placed  it  without 
delay  under  the  attic  window  and  proceeded  to  mount. 


113  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

The  situation  of  the  defenders  was  now  becoming  desperate. 
The  heat  of  the  burning  barn  was  intense,  several  men  were 
crowding  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder,  more  were  coming  round 
the  corner.  Reinforcements  had  evidently  arrived;  how  many 
could  not  be  seen,  but  surely  two  or  three  to  one  of  the  be- 
sieged party. 

Since  several  of  their  number  had  been  wounded  the  assail- 
ants were  mad  as  demons,  and  bent  upon  revenge;  the  effects  of 
the  whisky  had  partially  worked  off  and  they  were  able  to  do  some 
rational  thinking,  only  increasing  their  capacity  for  harm.  As 
the  result  of  a  little  calculation  two  or  three  aimed  at  the  men 
in  the  open  window,  seeking  to  retaliate  and  also  protect  those 
trying  to  reach  the  top  of  the  ladder.  Up  went  one,  weapon 
in  hand,  and  another  soon  followed. 

The  women,  now  pale,  trembling  and  cold  with  terror, 
cowered  in  their  corner  with  compressed  lips  and  glistening 
eyes,  hushing  the  boy  as  best  they  could. 

The  men  within  the  window  were  prepared  to  give  the  vil- 
lains a  warmer  reception  than  they  thought. 

When  John  and  Eben  saw  the  fight  w^as  to  be  in  the  loft, 
they  ascended,  carrying  besides  their  rifles  each  a  strong,  sharp 
knife;  the  long,  sw^ord-like  blade  used  by  western  farmers  for 
slaughtering.  As  the  men  outside  came  up  they  were  at  a  dis- 
advantage with  their  guns,  not  being  able  to  use  them  on  the 
ladder,  or  until  fairly  inside  the  room,  and  the  defenders  dodg- 
ing the  shots  from  below  had  an  idea  of  taking  good  care  the 
besiegers  should  not  get  in  safely,  or  more  than  one  at  a  time. 

The  first  man  who  put  foot  on  the  sill  of  the  window  re- 
ceived a  terrible  gash,  and  as  the  blood  spurted  from  his  wound, 
the  fellow  on  the  topmost  round  staggered  back  appalled,  drag- 
ing  his  injured  comrade  with  him. 

They  had  not  expected  such  work.  Fortunately  the  early 
morning  stage  came  rattling  along  the  road  a  few  rods  from 
the  house — the  burning  barn,  the  rifle  shots,  the  yells  and  curses 
told  the  story — some  settlers  were  fighting  over  a  contested 
claim. 

In  a  few  moments  the  stage  had  driven  up  to  the  house  and 
ten  or  twelve  passengers,  springing  to  the  ground,  entered  into 
the  melee  with  a  vigor  which  soon  terminated  the  contest;  by 
an  intuition  comprehending  the  situation,  throwing  their  forces 
on  the  side  of  justice  and  right. 

The  assaulting  party  hastily  placing  their  wounded  com- 
panions (one,  the  ringleader,  Silas  Smith,  having  received  what 


WHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  ll,j 

seemed  a  death  blow  just  at  the  close  of  the  fray  from  one  of 
the  stage  passengers)  at  the  bottom  of  the  wagon,  the  others 
jumping  in,  drove  furiously  away. 

After  extinguishing  the  fire,  the  men,  new-comers  with 
them,  came  pouring  into  the  house  to  see  what  had  become  of 
the  women  and  talk  about  the  trouble.  They  found  Julia 
laboring  with  the  now  unconscious  Lucille;  over-taxed  nature 
could  endure  no  more,  and  had  given  way  again.  She  had  suc- 
ceeded in  placing  her  on  the  only  bed  in  the  loft,  which  had 
been  set  apart  for  the  use  of  Uncle  Tut  since  Lucille's  occu- 
pancy of  his  room  below,  and  Julia  was  striving  in  every  way 
to  restore  her, but  she  lay  in  a  faint,  seemingly  dead;  the  boy  by 
her  side  sleeping.  Those  who  had  championed  their  cause  with 
the  men  of  the  family  coming  up  at  Julia's  call,  some  by  the  lad- 
der outside  and  others  from  the  inside,  all  expressing  sympathy 
and  offering  their  services — among  them  who  but  Henry  Arm- 
strong! 

For  Fate  had  brought  him  at  last  In  spite  of  himself  to  Lu- 
cille's  very  door,  even  to  her  side. 

But  alas  she  was  far  away,  only  her  wasted  body  with  its 
stilled  heart,  and  wan,  white  face  was  lying  there  before  him — 
herself  gone — departed. 

Henry  gazed  with  the  others  upon  the  passive  form,  so  dif- 
ferent from  his  Lucille  as  she  used  to  be;  and  at  the  thought, 
the  fear  that  she  might  be  surely  dead,  his  heart  gave  a  bound, 
and  a  great  sob  burst  from  his  heaving  breast;  but  with  the  will 
of  a  strong  man,  repressing  every  sense  but  that  of  seeing,  he 
looked  again,  and  if  a  dagger  had  struck  him  sharp  and  deep 
he  could  not  have  been  more  agonizingly  transfixed. 

Yes,  there  lay  Lucille,  his  own  true  love,  and  by  her  side — 
a  babe — her  child — every  feature  like  its  mother,  and  the  fine, 
handsome  fellow  bending  over  her  so  tenderly  was  the  father 
certainly,  and  her  husband.  For  who  that  had  known  him  of 
old  could  recognize  in  the  stalwart  western  farmer  the  once  dis- 
sipated brother  John?  And  Henry  had  never  seen  John  even 
in  Barrytown,  for  he  had  married  and  gone  away  before 
Henry's  advent.  John  himself  was  too  busy  with  Lucille,  as 
were  all  the  family,  to  notice  the  stage  passengers  individually, 
though  truly  grateful  for  their  assistance. 

Was  Lucille  dead  ?  No — for  very  soon  she  opened  wide  her 
eyes,  fixing  them  upon  Henry  Armstrong  with  a  supernatural  gaze 
— a  look  he  never  forgot  to  his  dying  day — such  instant  recog- 
nition, devotion,  appeal;  he   could    not  endure  the  emotion  it 


114  THE  STALWARTS;    OR, 

stirred  within  his  heart  for  another  moment,  the  love,  the  regret, 
the  remorse. 

How  could  he  now  right  the  wrong  he  felt  he  had  done  her 
and  himself? 

Was  she  not  a  married  woman,  her  babe  owning  another 
than  himself  its  father? 

What  now  could  aught  avail? 

Out — out  into  the  cold  morning  air  he  must  go  or  he  should 
fall. 

Wearily,  as  John  leaned  over  her,  shutting  Henry  from 
view,  Lucille  closed  her  eyes  again;  restfully,  peacefully,  for 
had  he  not  come  at  last?  Had  she  not  again  seen  his  dear  face, 
the  love-light  in  his  clear  eyes — a  light  once  seen  never  to  be 
mistaken? 

And  Henry  following  his  fate  turned  from  the  group  of  peo- 
ple, and  from  Lucille,  going  out  into  the  grey  light  of  that  chilly, 
foggy  morning. 

The  red  streaks  of  the  coming  dawn  in  the  east  intensifying 
the  dreariness  which  enwrapped  both  landscape  and  desolate 
traveler  as  with  a  funeral  pall. 

Weak,  and  trembling  in  every  limb,  paralyzed  with  grief, 
Henry  reached  the  waiting  stage  and  sank  into  his  seat,  ten 
years  older  than  when  he  left  it  two  hours  before. 

Not  one  word  did  he  speak  until  the  stage  stopped  for  break- 
fast, when,  to  avoid  remark,  he  must  rouse  himself,  and  ex- 
plained by  saying  he  was  very  tired;  not  well!  No — not  well 
indeed!     Henry  Armstrong  was  never  again  as  he  had  been. 

Now  that  he  had  lost  her,  how  strong  and  yearning  was  his 
love  for  Lucille;  growing  day  by  day  continually, year  by  year. 
Over  the  world  he  traveled  for  change  and  forgetfulness,  seek- 
ing another  woman  who  should  be  to  him  what  she  might  have 
been,  but  he  never  found  another.  And  what  of  her?  After  a 
few  moments  rest  she  opened  her  eyes,  expecting  to  meet  those 
of  one  she  loved  so  well,  butHenry  was  not  there,  and  scanning 
each  face  inquiringly,  she  turned  appealingly  to  John,  who  was 
bending  over  her.  "What  is  it  Lucille,  dear?"  For  John 
knew  his  little  sister  wanted  something.  But  she,  too  weak  for 
speech,  could  only  look,  with  intensest  love  and  longing  in  her 
eyes. 

One  by  one  the  passengers  went  out  and  soon  the  stage  was 
on  its  way. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  Lucille  recovered  from  the  ex- 
citement, the  fear,  the  final  shock  and  disappointment  of  that 


WHO  I  VERB  TO  BLAME.  115 

eventful  night.  Her  nerves  were  unstrung,  strength  exhausted, 
vital  force  gone,  said  her  friends;  and  sadder  than  ever  was  Dr. 
Gascoigne.  For  months  she  remained  very  weak,  nigh  unto 
death;  though  not  like  her  sister,  delirious,  she  would  murmer 
as  they  watched  her  sleeping — a  few  words,  a  name  now  and 
then,  Myra's  name  and  Henry's. 

All  those  who  loved  her  so  dearly  and  would  have  shielded 
from  every  sorrow,  knew  at  last  what  ailed  Lucille.  Grad- 
ually, with  persevering  tenderness,  they  nursed  her  back  to  life 
and  a  degree  of  health. 

After  she  had  partially  recovered,  and  no  one  mentioned 
having  seen  Henry,  although  she  could  hardly  believe  he  had 
not  been  before  her  eyes  really  and  truly,  she  finally  concluded 
that  what  had  appeared  to  be  her  lover  of  by-gone  days,  must 
have  been  a  vision  of  her  own  excited  brain. 

"  But  it  was  so  real,  so  exactly  like  flesh  and  blood,  bone  and 
sinew ;  in  every  way  as  a  live  man — how  strange,  how  strange." 

"And  yet,  if  it  were  himself,  why  did  he  not  speak?  Why 
did  he  not  stay?     How  came  he  there?     Where  did  he  go  to?" 

These  questions  Lucille  revolved  over  and  over  again  as  she 
lay  sinking  and  prostrate  those  weary  months;  sometimes  al- 
most touching  the  verge  of  the  dark  valley  through  which 
flowed  the  cold  stream  waiting  to  engulf  her;  but  the  mystery 
was  not  fully  solved  until  long  years  after. 

And  Henry  went  on  and  on,  from  place  to  place;  never  re- 
turning that  way  as  he  had  intended. 

Thus  does  Fate  defraud  us  when  happiness  is  at  our  very 
door,  just  within  our  grasp. 

Ever  enticing — ever  eluding. 


116  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 


CHAPTER  XV. 

REMOVAL. 

When  the  Freelawn  people  learned  how  the  drunken  row- 
dies who  tormented  Uncle  Tut  and  his  family  for  so  long  had 
wound  up  with  the  outrageous  attack  upon  him  the  night  after 
the  suit  was  decided,  which  every  one  believed  won  by  false 
swearing,  they  made  up  their  minds  the  villains  should  leave 
the  country. 

Judge  Lynch  was  a  popular  man  in  those  days,  and  many  a 
coat  of  tar  and  feathers,  if  no  worse  treatment,  was  administered 
by  his  decision  ;in  this  instance  little  mercy  would  have  been  shown 
only  that  three  of  the  party  were  wounded,  the  leader,  Silas 
Smith,  dangerously.  He  received  scant  sympathy  in  his  dis- 
tress, for  there  were  several  witnesses  to  his  deadly  aim  at  Un- 
cle Tut,  which  he  was  prevented  from  executing  by  one  of  the 
stage  passengers  grappling  him  just  in  time,  inflicting  serious  in- 
jury as  the  issue  proved. 

Notwithstanding  the  extreme  provocation  received,  which 
it  will  be  allowed  would  have  instigated  most  persons  to  revenge. 
Uncle  Tut,  John  and  Eben  each  urged  that  the  men  be  left  un- 
molested until  all  had  recovered. 

None  of  the  wounds  proved  fatal,  and  soon  those  disabled 
were  in  condition  for  traveling,  a  change  was  no  great  hard- 
ship, as  they  had  not  improved  their  claim,  but  spent  the  time 
drinking  and  carousing  with  the  women  and  such  neighbors 
as  were  like  themselves;  they  "were  tendered  a  quiet  but  effectual 
notice  to  move  on — and  they  moved  speedily. 

Years  elapsed  before  any  one  in  that  vicinity  heard  from 
them,  when  they  again  came  before  Uncle  Tut  as  central  figures 
in  a  tragedy  most  extraordinary;  at  least  the  woman,  Silas  Smith 
and  the  man  they  called  Doctor  or  Doc. 

While  Uncle  Tut  was  staying  with  his  friends  in  town,  at- 
tending his  law  suit,  he  did  not  omit  making  himself  as  agreea- 
ble and  sociable  as  was  possible  for  a  stammenng  man,  with 
Aunt  Debby.  The  fact  is,  he  was  becoming  thoroughly  dis- 
gusted and  dissatisfied  living  without  a  mate,  as  was  she. 

There  being  no  one  else  near,  eligible  for  either,  it  was  not 
necessary  that  Uncle  Tut  should  do  a  great  amount  of  talking, 


IVHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  117 

and  when  he  essayed  to  "pop  the  question,"  Aunt  Debby  ac- 
cepted him  before  he  got  half  way  through   the  first  sentence. 

'*Why,  yes,  to  be  sure,  of  course  I  will.  What  day  are  you 
going  out  to  the  claim,  and  how  soon  are  you  coming  back  for 
me?  ril  want  to  know  so  as  to  be  all  ready.  Law  sakes, 
who'd  a  thought  two  such  queer  ones  as  you  and  me.  Uncle  Tut, 
'ud  ever  have  made  a  match?  But, I  reckon,  if  you  do  go  slow, 
while  I  must  gojast^  we'll  manage  to  pull  putty  well  in  double 
harness  after  all;  perhaps  we'll  check-mate  each  other,  and  both 
be  better  for  it,  at  any  rate  we'll  make  the  venture,  if  you  say 
so,"  answered  Aunt  Debby,  wiping  her  eyes  on  the  cornei  of 
her  clean  checked  apron. 

More  soft-heartedness  than  Uncle  Tut  had  seen  from  Aunt 
Debby  since  he  had  known  her.  "Women  are  queer  creatures," 
said  Uncle  Tut  to  himself. 

A  strange,  queer  woman  was  Aunt  Debby,  truly.  Never 
had  sorrow  brought  from  her  a  tear,  and  here  was  she  rubbing 
her  eyes  because  an  honest  man  had  asked  her  to  marry  him. 
But  it  was  settled  that  he'd  come  for  her  the  next  week,  and 
they'd  be  married  and  go  back  to  the  farm  together,  the  wedding 
being  celebrated  in  Dr.  Gascoigne's  parlor  according  to  pro- 
gramme, without  the  least  hitch  or  delay.  For  the  Evil  One 
never  troubled  himself  in  the  slightest  about  the  affair.  He 
knew  very  well  that  once  the  knot  was  tied.  Aunt  Debby'd 
make  lively  times  for  Uncle  Tut  without  any  of  his  assistance, 
it  being  one  of  those  unions,  though  bringing  a  fair  degree  of 
comfort,  nevertheless  sure  to  evolve  enough  discomfort,  before 
the  antagonistic  elements  assimilate,  to  be  entirely  satisfactory 
for  his  Satanic  Majesty. 

After  this  change  of  base,  John  and  Julia  took  possession 
of  the  claim  deserted  by  their  bad  neighbors,  paying  them  a 
fair  sum  for  the  same  before  their  departure,  and  Lucille  re- 
turned to  her  father,  leaving  little  Jules  with  them  in  their  new 
home,  as  they  had  formed  such  an  attachment  towards  him  and 
he  for  them,  while  Lucille  lay  sick,  they  begged  Eben  to  let 
him  remain — awhile. 

To  this  he  readily  consented,  for  he  never  felt  at  ease  when 
the  child  was  near  him,  being  unwittingly  reminded  by  the  boy 
of  the  wrong  he  had  done  its  mother,  and  there  was  also  an  un- 
controllable shrinking  on  the  part  of  Jules  from  his  father, 
which  Eben  knew  and  felt. 

Lucille,  although  fond  of  the  motherless  little  fellow, 
found  her  strength  unequal  in   the  care  of  him.     She  had  seen 


118  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

how  Julia  tried  by  kind  treatment  of  the  child  to  atone  for 
her  former  folly,  and  felt  certain  John  was  devoted  to  him  for 
his  own  sake,  and  because  he  naturally  loved  children.  Thus 
the  arrangement  proved  satisfactory  to  all  concerned. 

Gertrude,  who  was  quite  mature  for  her  age,  would  rather 
her  brother  had  returned  with  Aunt  Lucille,  but  she  was  not 
accustomed  to  having  her  own  way,  and  could  adapt  herself  to 
changes,  finding  contentment,  or  even  pleasure,  where  a  child 
of  more  restless,  unhappy  disposition  would  see  cause  for  dis- 
satisfaction. 

She  was  a  quiet  little  girl,  trusty  and  capable,  whom  every- 
body liked,  her  friends  declared,  and  the  kindness  she  in- 
variably received  proved  the  assertion.  As  she  grew  older,  in- 
cidents much  the  same  as  have  been  recited,  marked  the  months 
and  years. 

She  as  a  matter  of  course  attended  regularly  the  ordinary 
day  school,  and  besides  the  evening  schools  for  singing  and  spell- 
ing intended  to  benefit  adults  and  older  children,  and  on  Sun- 
days the  school  for  religious  instruction. 

Also  parties  without  end ;  in  spring,  summer  and  fall,  nose- 
gay parties,  berry-parties  and  nutting  parties;  in  winter,  sleigh- 
ing-parties  and  coasting-parties,  and  apple-paring  bees,  and 
candy-pulls,  and  quilting-parties,  and  kissing-pa?'ties  all  the 
year  round,  where  the  little  lads  and  lasses  met  to  play  games 
and  give  forfeits,  to  be  redeemed  by  the  inevitable,  innocent 
kiss.  Gertrude  long  remembered  the  disappointment  shared 
equally  by  her  mates  of  either  sex,  consequent  upon  the  super- 
intendency  of  the  aged  maiden  sister  of  a  young  miss,  at  one 
of  these  gatherings,  whose  extreme  prudishness  frowned  upon, 
and  exterminated  for  the  time  being  at  least,  the  harmless  kiss. 
That  party  was  privately  voted  an  unmitigated  failure  by  every 
little  miss  and  young  gentlemen  in  town. 

Gertrude,  as  a  child,  surely  had  her  share  of  good  times, 
plenty  of  sweet-hearts,  and  was  a  general  favorite  with  her 
play-fellows  as  well  as  elders,  though  perhaps  experiencing 
more  sorrow  than  some  others. 

Another  grief  was  just  now  on  its  way,  coming  into  her 
life,  Grandpa  Gascoigne  becoming  feebler  each  day,  and  Ger- 
trude was  ever  afterwards  glad  that  she  gave  him  cheerfully 
her  loving  attention  in  his  declining  days. 

She  was  his  chosen  companion  whenever  accessible,  and 
would  sit  for  hours  by  his  side,  her  head  resting  upon  his  shoulder, 
the  bright,  golden  curls    mingling  with  the  soft,  silvery  gleam 


WHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  119 

of  his  snow  white  beard  and  flowing  locks  of  rarely  beautiful 
hair,  listening  eagerly  while  he  told  stories  of  his  younger  by- 
gone years. 

How  his  father  had  been  physician  to  Queen  Marie  Antoi- 
nette, of  France,  and  in  the  days  of  the  persecuiio  i  when  a 
mob  followed  her  carriage  through  the  streets  of  Paris,  the 
ignorant  populace  demanding  only  blood,  the  members  of 
her  household  had  escaped  as  best  they  could,  well  satisfied  at 
saving  their  lives,  so  unreasonable  was  the  wrath  of  her  sub- 
jects. 

And  how  his  father,  the  Queen's  physician,  succeeded  in 
reaching  the  coast  in  disguise  and  putting  out  to  sea  with  a 
younger  brother,  in  a  fisherman's  boat,  sustained  by  a  loaf  of 
bread  and  a  jug  of  water,until  finally  taken  up  by  a  ship  bound 
for  America.  And  then  he  would  take  from  his  pocket  the 
old,watch  which  had  belonged  to  the  French  savant,  and  re- 
moving the  time-keeper  from  its  huge  silver  case,  show  her  the 
beautiful  pictures  it  contained,  carefully  packed  away  in  the 
capacious  cover.  Some  on  velvet  or  satin,  others  on  velum  or 
on  a  parchment  fine  and  smooth,  thin  and  silky  as  the  red  poppy 
leaves  in  her  own  garden;  but  strong  as  they  were  frail,  fit 
foundation  for  the  exquisite  likenesses  of  friends  long  dead,  or 
flowers,  leaves  and  strange  artistic  tracings  in  pencil  and  water 
colors,  or  oil,  executed  by  friends,  sweethearts,  or  members  of 
the  household,  and  presented  as  keepsakes  to  be  placed  in  this 
receptacle  of  choicest  mementos. 

Gertrude  ever  after  carried  the  memory  of  her  grandfather's 
queer  old  watch — its  history,  all  the  strange  stories  connected 
with  it,  and  those  last  days  spent  with  him,  through  the  vicisi- 
tudes  of  her  eventful  life — even  to  the  end. 

The  sad  trouble  was  very  near  Gertrude  now,  grandpa  sat 
day  after  day  in  the  dear  old  chair  Alyra  had  brought  from  the 
Eastern  home,  and  dozed  his  life  away.  At  last  they  came  and 
found  him  quietly  sleeping — sweetly  resting — in  the  not  un- 
kindly arms  of  death.  Although  long  expected,  it  was  a  shock 
to  the  good  doctor's  friends,  especially  to  Lucille  and  Gertrude—^ 
the  very  event  we  are  looktng  for,  often  coming  as  a  surprise. 

They  placed  him  beside  his  loved  daughter  Myra,  and  both 
Lucille  and  Gertrude  were  com.forted  with  the  thought  of  a 
helpful  and  honored  life,  fittingly  ending  in  peace;  but  even 
so,  after  he  was  gone,  his  wasted  body  laid  away,  these  two 
wandered  drearily  from  room  to  room  of  the  desolated  fiouse, 
grieving  together. 


120  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

But  a  change  was  coming  to  them,  which,  though  resulting 
from  a  misfortune,  would  benefit  and  surely  divert  the  attention 
from  their  affliction.  Soon  after  her  grandfather's  death,  Ger- 
trude, child  as  she  was,  noticed  an  unusual  irritability  on  the 
part  of  her  father,  no  one  could  please  him;  the  cause  proved 
to  be  financial  embarrassment.  From  their  first  coming  to  Free- 
lawn  it  had  been  a  struggle  for  existence,  and  in  the  mercantile 
business,  almost  impossible  to  have  the  accounts  balance;  the 
past  year  being  extremely  unfavorable,  sickness  universally 
prevalent,  and  the  crops  poor,  for  the  farmers  could  not  work, 
consequently  they  could  not  pay  their  debts,  scarcely  current 
expenses;  at  last  from  this  combination  of  adverse  circumstances, 
her  father  was  on  the  verge  of  bankruptcy,  in  a  few  weeks 
when  the  fall  goods  were  to  be  purchased,  the  crisis  came,  and 
Eben  failed  utterly,  even  the  home  was  swept  away. 

What  to  do  next  was  the  question,  John  was  not  prospering 
on  the  new  farm  either,  and  the  idea  of  removing  to  Wisconsin 
was  considered. 

At  a  little  town  on  Lake  Michigan,  called  Port  Ulao,  sit- 
uated twenty  miles  north  of  Milwaukee,  Dr.  Gascoigne  had 
left  some  real  estate,  taken  shortly  before  his  death,  in  exchange 
for  an  equity  in  Eastern  property. 

A  wooding-pier  and  a  store  and  dwelling  house  combined, 
like  the  one  in  Freelawn,  constituted  this  transfer. 

After  consulting  together,  it  was  concluded  that  Eben  should 
try  what  he  could  do  there  first,  and  if  he  succeeded,  John  was 
to  follow  when  he  sold  his  farm. 

Preparations  were  commenced  at  once  for  the  change,  old 
ties  were  severed  once  more,  and  the  new  venture  entered  upon. 

Julia  having  now  a  boy  of  her  own,  and  neither  Lucille  or 
Eben  being  willing  to  part  with  the  child,  or  separate  the-brother 
and  sister  permanently,  Jules  was  brought  home  to  be  taken 
with  them  to  Wisconsin. 

As  Myra  had  requested  that  Lucille  should  care  for  her 
children,  she  was  loth  in  yielding  the  charge  to  any  one,  even 
their  father.  Owning  an  interest  in  the  Wisconsin  property, 
and  for  so  many  years  a  member  of  the  same  family  with  Eben, 
nothing  strange  was  thought  of  the  arrangement  that  she  should 
go  with  them,  especially  as  Grandma  Brewster,  burying  one 
after  another  of  her  own  family,  had  lived  with  the  Grieveau's 
since  Aunt  Debby's  marriage,  and  now  declared  her  wish  of 
accotrfpanying  the  family  to  their  Wisconsin  home. 

She  said  they  seemed  dearer  to  her  than  any  one  living,  and 


WHO  WERE   TO  BLAME.  121 

having  saved  a  small  competence  could  do  as  she  desired,  and 
no  advice  of  other  friends  or  relatives  should  hinder  her  from 
going  with  Lucille  and  staying  near  Myra's  children. 

When  the  final  day  came  and  good  byes  must  be  said,  thty 
were  surprised  at  the  strength  of  attachments  formed  in  Free- 
lawn.  Their  hearts  had  wandered  so  persistently  to  old  Barry- 
town,  speaking  of  it  as  home  and  of  going  back,  they  were  now 
unprepared  for  their  own  feelings. 

The  farewells  were  finished  at  last,  and  the  family  started 
away  in  much  the  same  fashion  as  they  had  arrived  in  Free- 
lawn  a  few  years  before  this  time,  directing  their  course  towards 
the  wilds  of  Wisconsin  as  the  State  was  spoken  of  at  that  early 
day. 

Being  further  north,  more  rugged,  heavily  timbered,  not 
easy  of  cultivation  as  Illinois,  Indiana,  Ohio  and  Michigan, 
Wisconsin  was  several  years  behind  these  States  in  filling  up 
with  settlers.  But  as  our  friends  traveled  across  the  State  from 
southwest  to  northeast,  they  passed  through  Janesville,  Beloit, 
Whitewater  and  other  prosperous  towns  before  reaching  Mil- 
waukee, a  flourishing  city  situated  at  the  extreme  eastern  limit 
of  the  State  and  on  the  western  shore  of  Lake  Michigan. 

After  leaving  Milwaukee  and  proceeding  north  a  sliort  day's 
journey,  they  halted  at  their  destination,  the  lake  port  before 
mentioned ;  finding  the  place  settled  entirely  by  Norwegians  of 
the  lower  class,  with  the  exception  of  two  or  three  American 
families.  These  hardy  emigrants  were  honest  and  kind  though 
indigent,  much  poorer  even  than  the  new-comers,  who,  greatly 
to  their  surprise,  found  themselves  looked  upon  as  aristocracy. 
For  did  they  not  ow^n  one  of  the  three  or  four  frame  houses 
which  the  village  contained?  Many  of  these  people  occupying 
at  best  a  log  cabin  of  one  room,  however  large  the  family. 
Some  being  content  with  mud  huts  dug  deep  into  the  side  of 
the  bluff  and  floored  with  the  smooth,  flat  stones  from  the  shore 
of  the  lake;  cedar  slabs  forming  the  front  of  the  mansion,  while 
others  supporting  the  mass  of  earth  and  gravel  which  composed 
the  hill  above  them  furnished  a  roof;  one  small  window  and  a 
door,  also  a  chimney  built  of  brush,  stones  and  mud-mortar 
against  the  front  in  one  corner  completing  the  structure.  This 
rude  arrangement  answered  for  heating  and  culinary  purposes 
in  winter,  while  during  the  few  hot  days  of  summer  an  open 
fire  against  the  hill-side,  among  an  ingeniously  contrived  pile  of 
stones,  was  the  cooking-range  used  by  these  thrifty  people. 
Many  a  thick   slice  of   rye-bread  baked   in  the   hot,   clean 


122  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

wood-ashes  of  these  fires  and  spread  with  the  dehcious  Wiscon- 
sin, butter,  did  Gertrude  and  Jules  accept  after  they  had  made 
them  friends,  from  the  kind  dames  to  whom  these  humble  homes 
were  a  kingdom. 

The  change  from  Freelawn  to  Ulao  was  accomplished  in 
the  early  summer,  and  but  a  short  time  elapsed  after  their  arri- 
val before  the  brother  and  sister  had  visited  every  hut  along  the 
shore.  Aunt  Lucille  could  watch  them  from  her  own  door  as 
they  strolled  about  picking  up  curious  stones  and  pebbles  some- 
times flowers,  as  they  w^ent,  until  hands  and  aprons  were  run- 
ning over  full.  When  tired  they  had  permission  to  avail  them- 
selves of  the  invitations  to  rest  in  the  neat  little  homes.  For 
the  Norwegian  woman  keeps  her  family  comfortable  be  her  re- 
sources ever  so  limited.  The  men,  too,  are  industrious  and 
careful. 

During  the  summer  they  worked  from  sunrise  till  sunset  in 
the  heavy  timber  upon  the  bluff,  chopping  and  piling  long  row^s 
of  cord-wood  ready  for  hauling  down  to  the  shore  in  winter, 
for  the  use  of  the  steamboats  which  would  stop  at  the  pier  the 
next  summer,  and  also  for  shipping. 

While  the  men  labored  in  the  deep,  cool  woods,  the  women 
attended  to  their  house-keeping  and  their  gardens;  raising  pota- 
toes, rutabagas,  cabbages  and  others  vegetables  grown  in  cool 
climates  and  easy  of  storage  in  winter. 

The  lake  and  the  woods  also  contributed  to  the  support  of 
these  simple,  economical  people. 

Fish  were  salted  or  dried,  berries  and  nuts  gathered  in  the 
woods,  a  few  hardy  apples  secured  from  the  gardens,  and  all 
carefully  put  away  for  winter  use,  except  snch  as  were  imme- 
diately needed. 

With  this  provision  and  the  fowls,  pigs  and  sheep,  an  occa- 
sional calf  or  beef  for  slaughter,  with  the  eggs  and  milk,  the 
butter  and  cream,  they  managed  to  exist  and  enjoy  their  full 
quota  of  happiness. 

For  clothing,  the  women  in  addition  to  their  other  work, 
carded,  spun  and  wove  the  fleecy  wool  into  warm  cloth  for 
winter  use;  manufacturing  flax  also  in  the  same  manner  for 
summer  wear. 

When  the  winter  evenings  were  long,  after  the  day's  work 
was  done,  after  the  men  had  hauled  their  loads  of  wood  down 
from  the  hills  to  the  shore  on  the  great  ox  sleds,  after  the 
women  had  attended  to  their  housework  and  the  children,  get- 
ting them  off  to  school  betimes  in  the  morning,  being  sure  that 


WHO  WERE  TO  BLAME  123 

not  a  moment  was  idled  away  when  home,  the  whole  family  at 
eventide  assisted  in  the  careful  feeding  and  housing  of  the  high- 
ly prized  animals,  horses  and  cattle,  sheep,  pigs,  and  fowls. 
When  the  day's  work  was  finished,  men,  women  and  children 
would  gather  around  the  open  fire-place  piled  up  with  immense 
logs  of  blazing  wood,  each  knitting  so  rapidly,  on  stockings 
fully  a  yard  long  for  the  adults,  the  steel  needles,  but  for  their 
glistening  brightness  could  not  be  seen.  As  they  flew  the  men 
smoked  their  clay  pipes,  often  the  women  did  the  same,  while 
one  and  another  of  the  elder  ones  related  some  marvelous  nar- 
rative handed  down  from  generations  back  about  the  wraiths, 
the  brownies  and  the  elfin  bands  wdio  had  for  ages  past  disported 
themselves  and  played  their  pranks  among  the  Friths  and  Fjords 
in  old  Norway;  of  which  the  following,  told  by  a  woman  whose 
grandmother  had  when  a  little  girl  served  a  lady  in  the  capa- 
city of  servant,  is  a  sample: 

"When  my  grandmother  was  a  little  girl,  she  lived  with  an 
old  widow  lady  and  helped  her  with  the  house-keeping.  One 
Christmas  Eve  the  lady  made  up  her  mind  to  go  to  church 
and  hear  the  morning  mass,  and  as  it  was  to  begin  at  half-past 
six  in  the  morning,  they  fixed  up  the  breakfast  table  the  night 
before — for  she  wanted  her  breakfast  before  she  went.  Then 
they  went  to  bed,  and  when  the  lady  waked  up,  the  moon  was 
shining  on  the  floor,  and  she  got  up  to  see  what  time  it  was^ 
but  the  clock  had  stopped  at  half-past  eleven,  and  she  could  n(*t 
tell  the  time,  so  she  looked  out  of  the  window  to  see  if  it  was 
daylight,  and  was  surprised  to  see  the  church  lighted  up.  She 
called  the  girl  to  hurry  and  make  some  coffee  while  she  dressed, 
for  she  did  not  want  to  miss  the  mass.  She  drank  her  coffee, 
took  her  prayer-book  and  went  to  church. 

"It  was  very  still  in  the  street,  and  she  never  saw  a  human 
being  on  the  way.  When  she  got  to  church  she  went  straight 
up  to  her  pew,  but  when  she  looked  round  she  saw  the  people 
looked  so  pale  and  curious,  just  like  they  were  dead,  all  of  them. 
There  was  nobody  she  knew,  but  a  good  m.any  she  thought  she 
had  seen  before,  but  when  and  where  she  could  not  remember. 
When  the  preacher  went  up  to  the  altar  she  saw  that  he  was 
not  the  regular  city  preacher,  but  a  tall,  pale  looking  man  she 
remembered  she  had  seen  somewhere  before.  He  spoke 
splendidly,  but  she  noticed  it  was  not  so  noisy,  and  not  so  much 
coughing  and  whispering  as  before  they  always  had  in  meet- 
ing; it  was  so  quiet  she  could  almost  hear  a  pin  drop  on  the 
floor,  she  became  nearly  frightened.      When  the  singing  com- 


124  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

menced  a  woman  sitting  next  her  bent  over  and  whispered  in 
her  ear,  *rut  your  cloak  on  your  arm  and  get  away  as  quick  as 
you  can,  for  if  you  wait  till  the  end  you  are  lost.  This  is  the 
dead  having  their  prayer  meeting.' 

"The  widow  lady  w^as  awfully  scared,  for  hearing  the  voice 
and  looking  at  the  woman,  she  saw  she  was  an  old  neighbor 
who  had  been  dead  a  long  time.  She  looked  round  and  saw 
that  the  preacher  and  a  good  many  of  the  people  she  had  seen 
when  they  were  alive;  but  they  had  all  been  dead  a  good  many 
years. 

"She  was  so  scared  she  was  most  crazy,  and  drew  her  cloak 
over  her  shoulders  as  the  woman  had  told  her,  and  got  away  as 
fast  as  she  could.  But  the  dead  people  all  tried  to  stop  her,  and 
her  feet  trembled  under  her  and  she  nearly  fainted,  but  she  flew 
along  and  got  to  the  door.  As  she  was  coming  out  of  the 
church  she  felt  somebody  pulling  her  cloak  and  she  left  it  be- 
hind her  and  ran  home  as  fast  as  she  could. 

"When  she  got  back  to  her  room,  the  clock  in  the  church 
tower  struck  one^  and  she  jumped  into  bed — clothes  and  all — 
most  frightened  to  death. 

"In  the  morning  when  the  people  came  to  church  they  found 
the  cloak  torn  to  a  hundred  pieces.  My  mother  has  seen  one  of 
the  pieces  and  knows  it  was  all  true,  as  the  widow  lady  and  my 
grandmother  told  it." 

Yes,  as  true  and  as  well  authenticated  as  is  many  another 
venerable  tradition  controlling  the  faith  of  the  world. 

At  these  ghostly  tales  the  little  grey  eyes  of  the  young  Nor- 
wegians would  be  distended  wide  in  intensified  amazement,  and 
every  straight,  flaxen  wiiite  hair  stand  on  end,  until  shiver- 
ing with  a  comfortable  fear,  a  pleasurable  horror,  they  slyly  crept 
away,  awestruck,  to  their  cozy  little  cots,  and  crawling  between 
the  ample  feather  beds,  hid   their  heads  in  the  downy  pillows. 

This  wierd  amusement  was  not  reserved  exclusively  for  the 
evening  entertainments,  and  Gertrude  and  little  Jules  never  tired 
of  listening  to  these  strange  stories,  sat  many  an  hour  with  a 
group  of  tow-headed  youngsters  around  some  old  granny's  knees, 
whose  tongue  flew  not  less  rapidly  than  her  needles,  until  all 
were  shivering  from  head  to  foot,  even  on  the  brightest  sum- 
mer's day. 

These  with  other  experiences,  which  seemed  a  part  of  their 
fate,  produced  in  the  minds  of  the  two  children  a  predeliction 
for  and  a  desire  to  investigate  spiritual  phenomena,  which  be- 
came a  marked  characteristic  of  their  mentality. 


WHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  1^5 

Especially  was  little  Jules  affected  in  a  peculiar  manner,  and 
the  worship  of  the  supernatural  already  engrafted  upon  the 
child  by  the  events  of  his  pre-natal  existence,  was  greatly  in- 
tensified, coloring  his  whole  life,  mayhap  developing  his  destiny. 

Among  other  things  to  be  learned  from  these  poor  and  cer- 
tainly ignorant  people,  as  the  world's  knowledge  goes,  our 
friends  from  Freelawn  came  to  know  how  few  of  the  artificial 
surroundings  costing  so  much  money,  are  really  needed  for 
making  people  comfortable  and  happy,  if  only  they  would  come 
down  to  nature  and  the  use  of  their  own  hands;  for  in  these 
humble  homes  was  contentment,  thrift  and  peace,  which  the 
millionaire  of  to-day  may  well  envy. 


126  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

AN    EPISODE. 

Lucille,  although  very  lonely,  received  much  benefit  to  her 
health  from  the  change  of  scene  and  climate.  Mother  Brew- 
ster declared  Wisconsin  air  would  put  life  into  the  dying,  and 
there  are  many  now  w^ho  will  agree  with  her;  surely  if  with 
the  pure  invigorating  air,  is  combined  the  water  of  those  medici- 
nal springs  found  everywhere  at  near  intervals  in  this  wonder- 
ful State,  worthy  to  be  distinguished  as  Nature's  sanitarium. 

Even  the  forlorn  town  of  Ulao,  under  the  great  overhang- 
ing bluff,  lying  flat  on  the  sand  by  the  shore  of  the  lake,  could 
boast  of  as  good  a  spring  as  the  famed  Bethesda,  whose  healing 
waters  bring  so  many  every  season  from  far  and  near  to  the 
beautiful  city  of  Waukesha  for  health  and  pleasure. 

Gertrude  would  take  her  pitcher  in  one  hand,  her  brother 
Jules  holding  by  the  other,  and  go  up  through  the  deep  ravines, 
rocky  and  romantic,  thickly  studded  on  either  side  with  fra- 
grant Cedar,  Tamarack  and  Juniper  trees;  the  Cedars  growing 
with  close,  straight  branches.  Tamaracks  tall  and  slender  with  a 
feathery  grace.  Junipers  down  by  the  ground,  spreading  out 
broadly,  tangled  in  with  the  briars  and  white  starry  blossoms 
of  the  blackberry  bushes,  thick  green  mosses,  and  delicate  wild- 
wood  flowers;  up  through  this  fragrant  bower,  this  dell  of 
delights,  following  the  gurgling  stream,  jumping  across  from 
side  to  side  as  better  footing  required,  the  happy  sister  and  little 
brother  went  every  day,  bringing  fresh,  cool  water  from  the 
spring  in  the  hill-side,  but  so  nasty^  they  thought  in  taste  and 
smell,  for  Aunt  Lucille  to  drink. 

Auntie  throve  on  the  horrid  spring  water  and  pure  air, 
feeling  more  strength  and  vigor  than  for  years;  although  her 
grief  over  her  lost  love  did  not  leave  her  but  she  was  becoming 
accustomed  to  carry  her  burden. 

She  heard  in  the  strangest  manner  through  Uncle  Tut's  in- 
vestigations, just  before  leaving  Freelawn,  that  Henry  Arm- 
strong really  was  a  passenger  in  the  stage  on  that  eventful 
night,  and  that  he  did  stand  by  her  bedside;  this  much  Uncle 
Tut  ascertained,  even  tracing  him  as  one  of  a  party  going  to 
San  Francisco,  crossing  the  Rocky   Mountains,  where  he  lost 


IVHO  WERE   TO  BLAME.  127 

the  clue,  and  time  proved  that  years  were  to  elapse  before  he 
should  find  it  again. 

Lucille  was  more  than  ever  puzzled,  and  longed  to  know 
why  Henry  had  looked  at  her  with  such  passionate  love  and 
tenderness  in  his  eyes,  and  then  left  her  without  a  word. 

She  tried  in  every  possible  way  to  solve  the  mystery,  and 
finally  concluded  that  Henry  must  have  formed  another  tie 
which  could  not  be  broken  without  causing  the  same  pangs  to 
another  which  she  had  felt  so  keenly.  This  thought  partially 
reconciled  Lucille  to  the  sad  fate  decreed  her,  she  said  unsel- 
fishly, "  If  some  other  woman  loves  him  as  I  have  loved,  for 
her  sake  I  will  banish  his  image  from  my  heart;"  and  then,  that 
last,  warm,  entrancing  gaze,  from  those  deep,  dark  eyes,  which 
had  laid  hold  upon,  engulfing  her  very  soul  in  bliss  and  peace, 
coming  back  to  her,  Lucille  would  cry  out  in  anguish,  '^  How 
can  I  let  him  go,  when  I  know  he  loves  me  truly  even  now, 
for  I'll  never  believe  I  did  not  see  it  then.  What  can  it  mean? 
What  is  the  trouble?  What  has  he  done?  What  have  /done, 
that  we  should  be  so  cruelly  separated,  estranged,  parted  for- 
ever, and  without  one  word  of  explanation?"  And  Lucille 
would  be  again  overcome  as  of  old. 

About  this  time,  one  of  the  three  families  comprising  the 
society  of  this  Norwegian  hamlet,  was  the  recipient  of  an  un- 
expected visit.  Some  business  requiring  the  signature  of  a 
member  necessitated  search,  which  resulted  in  the  arrival  one 
day  by  the  afternoon  boat,  of  a  man  refined  in  appearance,  who 
enquired  "  If  a  family  by  the  name  of  Glenn  lived  anywhere 
about?" 

He  was  directed  to  one  of  the  frame  houses  near  by,  but  be- 
fore reaching  the  door  encountered  Lucille  returning  from  the 
spring  with  the  children,  pitcher  in  one  hand  and  a  large  nose- 
gay of  beautiful  yellow  flowers  in  the  other. 

On  the  instant  a  pleased  surprise  each  saw  unconsciously  re- 
vealed to  the  other,  for  how  could  they  conceal  the  sudden  ad- 
miration felt  at  unexpectedly  meeting  a  lady  or  a  gentleman,  a 
fact  easily  recognized  by  the  free-masonry  of  congeniality. 

The  last  place  he  had  thought  to  find  such  a  vision  of  lovli- 
ness  as  little  Lucille  presented,  and  far  from  her  mind  the  idea 
of  seeing  a  thoroughly  bred  gentleman  outside  her  own  family. 

The  stranger  proceeded  to  the  house  of  the  people  he  was 
looking  for;  but  although  the  needed  information  was  shortly 
acquired  and  nothing  hindered  him  from  leaving  by  the  morji- 
ing  boat  as  at  first   intended,  he  suddenlv   discovered    himself 


138  THE  STALWARTS;    OR, 

very  tired  from  long  continued  travel  (for  he  had  crossed  an 
ocean  in  the  interests  of  his  clients),  and  accepted  the  invitation 
to  remain  a  few  days  with  his  new  acquaintances,  who  were 
very  glad  of  a  visitor  breaking  in  upon  the  monotony  of  their 
lives. 

He  afterwards  concluded  to  lengthen  his  stay  indefinitely, 
and  insisted  they  should  accept  a  suitable  remuneration  for  any 
trouble  he  might  give  them.  To  this  they  had  no  objection,  for 
small  help  was  thankfully  received  by  these  people  in  this  out 
of  the  way  place,  where  a  comfortable  living  was  difficult  to 
secure. 

Of  course  Lucille  was  the  enticement,  a  fact  the  gentleman 
in  no  wise  attempted  denying  to  himself,  whatever  he  might 
aver  to  others.  He  said,  "  Here  is  a  woman  who  would  attract 
wherever  one  might  meet  her,  did  she  speak  never  a  word ;  for 
though  not  faultlessly  beautiful,  she  possesses  a  charm  none  can 
escape."  Coming  across  this  rare  flower  in  a  wilderness,  he 
was  even  more  interested  to  know  and  talk  with  her,  to  learn 
where  she  came  from,  and  what  manner  of  woman  she  might 
be,  than  if  finding  her  under  ordinary  circumstances. 

He  had  traveled  much,  was  a  man  of  the  w^orld,  and  also 
quite  a  gallant  among  ladies,  had  engaged  in  flirtation  more  or 
less  serious,  but  his  heart  was  still  untouched. 

By  the  afternoon  following  his  arrival  he  had  gained  an  in- 
troduction, not  a  difficult  undertaking  in  a  place  where  there 
were  so  few  people,  and  everyone  was  fairly  obliged  to  know 
everyone  else. 

A  walk  along  the  shore,  an  invitation  to  enter  the  pleasant 
parlor  upon  their  rerurn,  a  chat  upon  almost  everything  under 
the  sun,  and  before  they  bade  each  other  good  evening  the  ac- 
quaintance was  commenced  which  induced  the  gentleman  to 
remain  in  this  desolate  little  village  a  full  month,  well  enter- 
tained every  moment  of  the  time  at  any  rate  when  beside  Lu- 
cille— a  happiness  which  he  managed  to  enjoy  pretty  constantly. 

He  could  never  tire  of  walking,  riding,  boating,  visiting 
with  her;  talking  and  listening  to  her  replies.  He  found  her 
sensible,  quick,  witty,  well-informed,  amiable,  easily-pleased, 
agreeable  to  look  upon,  magnetic  and  sympathetic  as  only  those 
can  be  who  have  been  touched  by  sorrow. 

Lucille  never  alluded  to  her  sore  disappointment  in  the 
slightest  manner,  not  even  after  their  acquaintance  grew  to  be 
an  acknowledged  friendship;  but  somehow  her  new  friend  felt 
sure  he   did  not   get  near  her  heart,  and  this  was  just  what  he 


IV//0   WERE   TO  BLAME.  129 

was  trying  to  accomplish,  staying  here  in   this  dreary  place  all 
these  weeks. 

He  was  coming  to  realize  more  and   more  everv  day  that 
when  he  went  into  the  world  again  he  must  take  this  dear  little 
woman,  whom  fate  had  thrown  so  unceremoniously  in  his  way 
along  with  him  to  he  his  own  forever.  "  '  ' 

And  yet  he  almost  knew  that  although  she  had  become  in- 
dispensable to  him,  no  lasting  impression  was  made  upon  her 
heart  or  life  by  his  presence. 

Why,  he  could  not  divine;  she  liked  him    he   was  sure,  for 
she  brightened  at  his  approach,  was  contented  in  his  company, 
and  loth  to  have  him  go.     But  she  would  not  allow  him  to  ap- 
proach her  in  the  least  way  that  could  be  construed  as  tender, 
ordraw  from  her  more  sympathy  than  she  displayed  towards  the 
children,  members  of  her  family  and  other  friends.     Of  all  the 
women  he  had  known  she  was  the  only  one  over  whom  he  felt 
absolutely   no   power;    others  had  been  ready  to  fall  into   his 
arms  at  the  slightest  provocation,  but  Lucille  was  immovable  as 
the  pure  white  marble.     He  failed  to  arouse  her  enthusiasm  in 
any  degree,  and  yet  she  was  uneasy  and  dissatisfied  if  he  left 
her  long  alone,  always  restful  by  his  side,  but  when  he  tried  to 
induce  some  return  of  the  yearning  passion  which  was  consum- 
ing his   own  life,  he  could  never  gain  more  than  the  admission 
that  she  was  very  lonely—glad  of  his  friendship  and  company. 
And  this  was  all  the  bond  between  them  on  her  part;  she 
had  basked  in  his  companionship,  as  does  the  consumptive  in 
the  rays  of  the  life-giving  sun;  she  seemed  powerless  to  turn 
away  from  the  invigorating,  saving  influence  which  had  come 
to  her  unsought,  m  her  desperate  despondency  and  grief;  she 
believed  it  had  perfected  her  restoration  to  health,  and  was  truly 
grateful  for   his  kind  devotion,  but  fully  understood,  notwith- 
standing all,  she  could  never  love  him  as  she  knew  he  desired 
Lucille  had  tried  her  utmost  to  rest  in  the  sense  of  possession, 
which.  It  was  plain  to  be  seen,  this  man  had   towards  her,  but 
was  more  and  more  entirely  conscious   she  did  not  belono-  to 
him  in  the  least,  but  to  another.  ^ 

It  mattered  not  what  that  other  might  do,  or  how  long  he 
should  stay  away— sometime,  somewhere,  they  would  meet 
again  and  she  be  his  forevermore. 

Lucille  was  aware  she  could  never  forget  Henry  Armstrong, 
though  having  purposely  given  every  opportunity  that  his 
image  might  be  displaced.  She  had  allowed  the  experiment 
for  her  own  sake,  and  because  of  the  one  to  whom  she  believed 


130  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

Henry  in  honor  bound;  also  to  gratify,  if  possible,  this  man 
whose  happiness  she  knew  was  in  her  hand;  but  her  wilful 
heart  could  not  be  brought  to  love  him,  and  now  she  was  ready 
to  answer  the  question  which  she  was  conscious  he  intended 
asking,  and  wished  no  longer  delay.  She  should  miss  him  sad- 
ly, but  there  was  no  help  for  it,  she  must  send  her  kind  friend 
away.  Still,  day  after  day  passed  and  the  denouement  did 
not  come,  something  seemed  to  hold  it  back. 

When  her  friend  called,  or  they  went  for  the  accustomed 
walk,  he  would  resolve  upon  ending  the  mystery  of  Lucille's 
conduct  towards  him,  but  each  day  they  met  and  parted,  his 
chains  the  while  tightening  hopelessly;  the  one  wish  of  his 
heart  unaccomplished. 

At  last  their  stroll  one  afternoon  was  more  extended  than 
usual,  a  storm  overtook  them,  no  alternative  remained  but  shel- 
ter under  the  inevitable  tree;  sharp  lightening,  terrific  thunder, 
hail  and  wind,  ii  fearful  storm  had  come  upon  them  unawares. 

Lucille  was  thinly  clad  even  for  a  summer's  day,  the  pre- 
vious hours  being  hot  and  sultry;  not  a  shawl  or  wrap  at  hand 
wherewith  to  shield  the  woman  he  loved,  and  she  so  frail  the 
exposure  might  be  fatal. 

Before  Lucille  could  remonstrate  he  had  removed  his  coat, 
and  placing  it  about  her,  lifted  her  from  the  drenched  ground, 
doing  what  he  could  to  protect  from  the  gale. 

The  moment  he  had  her  in  his  arms  the  strong  man  was 
wild  with  love  and  passion.  Not  now  could  the  raging  ele- 
ments drow^n  his  words  of  love.  He  entreated  Lucille  to  be 
his  wife,  he  begged  for  one  kiss  from  her  sweet  lips,  one  love  look 
from  her  dear  eyes;  kiss  her^  he  did,  how  could  she  prevent 
him?  In  his  arms  he  held  her  tightly,  he  showered  kisses  on 
her  face,  but  not  one  in  return. 

As  she  felt  his  passionate  breath  upon  her  cheek,  heard  the 
endearing  words  whispered  in  her  ear,  no  chord  of  her  being 
thrilled  at  his  loving  caresses.  There  was  no  response,  only 
apathetic  indifference;  noticing  this  at  last,  his  ardor  cooled. 
•X  She  lay  in  his  arms  helpless  as  a  child,  with  eyes  closed,  lips 
tightly  sealed. 

"Lucille,  sweet,  look  at  me,"  he  cried.  "  Kiss  me,  darling, 
kiss  me."  She  opened  wide  her  eyes,  and  gazing  full  in 
his  face,  answered,  "  No,  I  cannot  kiss  you,  and  you  must  not 
kiss  me." 

If  a  thunderbolt  from  Heaven  had  struck  the  man  he  could 
not  have  seemed  more  certainly  sent  to  his  death.     He  stagger- 


IVHO   WERE  TO  BLAME.  131 

ed,  reeled  against  a  tree,  almost  fell,  then  recovering  himself,  as 
the  storm  had  abated,  they  quietly  walked  home  without  another 
word. 

The  next  morning  saw  him  take  the  boat  as  he  had  intended 
doing  a  month  before,  but  now  years  older,  carrying  a  sadder 
face,  a  heavier  heart,  than  when  he  came. 

Lucille  knew,  without  a  shadow  of  doubt,  that  her  heart 
would  ever  refuse  another  than  Henry  Armstrong,  and  she 
should  die  an  old  maid.  A  woman  by  every  attribute  of  mind, 
heart  and  body,  who  should  have  been  a  loved  and  loving  wife, 
doomed  to  such  a  fate!  Thus  do  men  defraud  women — enter- 
ing the  sacred  citadel,  stealing  away  their  choicest  possession, 
naught  returning. 

Lucille  bitterly  reproached  herself  for  encouraging  affection 
from  one  so  truly  honest  as  her  lost  friend,  when  she  found  it 
impossible  to  reciprocate;  and  gladly  would  have  rectified  her 
unhappy  error,  but  regret  could  not  mend  the  evil  wrought. 

The  drenching  of  the  cold  rain,  revulsion  of  feeling,  and 
subsequent  dreary  loneliness  told  upon  her  health,  and  again  was 
Lucille  cast  down. 

The  sudden  departure  was  commented  upon  in  the  wee 
little  hamlet,  a  lover's  quarrel  surmised,  and  also  as  the  cause  of 
Lucille's  alarming  illness  following,  just  as  would  have  been 
done  in  more  fashionable  society.  But  the  gossips  did  not  know 
all  about  their  neighbors'  business  in  this  instance,  any  more 
than  they  would  in  the  other  probably. 

Finally  Lucille  rallied  as  before,  regaining  health  and  cheer- 
fulness, notwithstanding  all  the  strain  imposed  upon  her  body 
and  her  spirit. 


132  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

COMMUNISM, 


After  a  year's  sojourn  Eben  was  glad  to  dispose  of  a  part 
of  the  Ulao  property,  and  dividing  the  proceeds  with  John  and 
Lucille,  the  family  moved  again,  this  time  returning  to  Michi- 
gan, and  locating  not  far  from  Barrytown,  which  Eben  had 
left,  a  happy  man  with  a  loving  wife,  and  a  good  start  in  life 
not  many  years  before.  Now  he  returned  wifeless  and  poor, 
and  would  have  been  destitute  but  for  the  fortunate  outcome  of 
Dr.  Gascoigne's  last  investment.  His  old  neighbors  said  when 
they  came  to  visit  him,  that  Eben  Grieveau  was  a  good  deal 
broken  down  with  all  he  had  been  through  since  he  w^ent  away ; 
and  they  whispered  among  themselves,  the  chances  for  being 
better  off  in  every  respect,  had  he  kept  still.  As  for  Eben,  he 
gave  the  invariable  advice  to  restless  men,  when  asked  his 
opinion  about  going  West,  *Let  well  enough  alone,  you  can  live 
where  you  are,  if  industrious  and  contented." 

Their  new  home  was  the  site  of  a  flourishing  university,  and 
an  academy  or  preparatory  school  for  both  sexes.  As  Gertrude 
and  Jules  had  been  hindered  in  their  education  by  the  time  spent 
in  Wisconsin,  they  were  placed  immediately  in  school.  Mr. 
Smythe,  the  gentlemanly  principal,  displayed  much  apparent 
interest  in  the  Grieveau  children,  and  soon  called  upon  the 
family.  In  a  short  time  he  became  very  attentive  to  Aunt 
Lucille,  and  people  were  beginning  to  evince  curiosity,  when  a 
different  fate  was  evolved  by  the  circumstance  of  her  receiving 
a  sudden  summons,  and  proceeding  at  once  to  Freelawn,  where 
her  brother  John  was  dangerously  ill  of  a  western  fever,  beg- 
ging constantly  for  his  sister  whom  he  dearly  loved.  Her  visit 
was  prolonged  beyond  all  expectation.  Grandma  Brewster  at- 
tending to  the  household  during  Lucille's  absence.  The  kind 
teacher  continued  his  visits  without  abatement,  helping  the 
children  with  their  lessons  of  an  evening;  they  making  rapid 
progress,  being  apt,  even  precocious  for  their  years.  Gertrude, 
especially,  though  so  very  young  and  of  delicate  organization 
physically,  was  acknowledged  to  be  developed  beyond  her  years 
in  mind  and  character. 

When  she  became  a  woman  and  was  called  to  pass  through 


lVJ/0   WERE  TO  BLAME.  133 

seas  of  trouble,  she  remembered  with  wonder  how  old  and  sedate 
were  her  thoughts  and  feelings  at  this  immature  age. 

For  the  child  really  imagined  herself  capable  of  loving  this 
teacher  who  treated  her  so  kindly,  w^ith  the  love  a  wife  should 
have  for  a  husband;  he  doing  his  utmost  to  encourage  the  de- 
lusion, and  before  Aunt  Lucille  could  make  the  long  journey 
and  return  to  her  charge,  the  poor,  foolish,  little  girl  was  actually 
married  to  a  man  many  years  her  senior. 

Grandma  Brewster  united  with  a  strong  force  of  old  ladies, 
who  remonstrated  earnestly,  Lucille  had  done  the  same  by 
letter,  but  nothing  prevented  the  consummation.  The  man  was 
determined  to  wed  the  child-woman,  and  easily  obtained  the 
consent  of  Eben,  who  becoming  absorbed  recently  in  religious 
speculation,  was  oblivious  to  everything  else. 

From  having  all  his  life  been  an  erratic,  headstrong  man,  he 
had  of  late  grown  to  be  very  strange  in  many  of  his  ideas,  and 
was  drifting  into  an  opinionated  fanaticism. 

About  this  time,  happening  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  a 
member  of  an  association,  believing  among  other  pecuHar  doc- 
trines, that  the  common  ownership  of  wives  and  families  as 
well  as  property,  was  expedient,  wise  and  religious,  some  of 
the  men  of  the  "Community,"  as  it  was  usually  styled,  traveling 
about  the  country  in  the  interests  of  their  faith,  also  the  mer- 
cantile part  of  their  scheme,  sparing  no  pains  in  making  prose- 
lytes; they  were  invited,  and  often  stopped  in  the  Grieveau  < 
family,  and  soon  Eben  was  an  outspoken  convert.  These  men 
argued  the  truth  of  their'  theories  from  certain  passages  of 
scripture,  which  could  not  be  gainsayed,  for  ahnost  any  as- 
sertion may  be  proved  from  the  Bible,  by  taking  it  piece-meal 
instead  of  as  a  whole. 

Quoting  isolated  texts,  such  as  "In  Heaven  they  neither 
marry  or  are  given  in  marriage,"  they  concluded,  the  best  way 
to  start  a  Heaven  on  earth,  would  be  to  commence  by  abolish- 
ing this  holy  rite,  and  establishing  free  commerce  between  the 
sexes.  Many  were  easily  made  to  beheve  this  extremely 
human,  and  not  at  all  divine  doctrine,  and  a  large  institution 
was  established,  which  has  continued  to  this  day,  showing  forth 
by  its  inner  workings,  not  a  Heaven  below  but  a  fair  sample  of 
the  other  kind  of  place. 

People  will  assent  to  almost  any  impious,  unnatural,  absurd 
religion,  as  instance:  Communism,  Mormonism  and  other  vaga- 
ries, if  plausible  theories  are  preached  until   an   impression  is 


134  THE  STALWARTS ;   OR, 

made  on  the  mind  before  bringing  the  practical  workings   and 
hideousness  resulting  into  view. 

In  this  manner  was  Eben  dominated  by  the  new  creed  until 
he  believed  the  principles  taught  true,  and  the  life  led,  the  best 
for  individuals  and  for  the  race.  And  there  was  besides  an 
element  of  sociability  w^hich  captivated  his  heart.  While  not  in 
any  sense  licentious,  he  was,  in  spite  of  his  willfulness  and  un- 
reasonableness, an  affectionate  lovable  man.  Little  children^ 
those  in  any  trouble,  domestic  animals,  every  weak,  dependent 
or  distressed  creature,  turned  to  him  with  implicit  trust,  as  by 
instinct.  Such  a  man  must  from  his  nature  enjoy  the  society  of 
pleasant,  decent  women,  and  they  confide  in  him,  some  more, 
some  less;  and  this  without  a  thought  of  wrong.  Although  there 
is  for  every  honest  man,  one  woman  comprising  within  her- 
self all  gratifying  attributes,  as  there  is  for  each  true  woman, 
the  man  who  could  be  to  her  more  than  any  in  the  world  be- 
sides, it  often  happens  that  men  and  women,  miss  or  lose 
their  mates,  and  then  no  one  else,  not  even  many  combined,  are 
sufficient  to  appease  the  hunger  of  the  heart,  to  satisfy  the  re- 
quirements of  being.  Neither  men  or  women  understand  this 
as  a  rule,  hence  they  try  sipping  sweets  from  one,  two,  or  a 
dozen,  with  the  result  of  universal  demoralization. 

Eben  ceased  not  to  grieve  for  Myra,  his  lost  wife,  and  the 
trouble  gre\v  as  he  advanced  in  years. 

To  his  daughter  Gertrude  he  expressed  himself  thus:  *'  My 
love  for  your  mother  increases  each  year,  and  at  times  I  long 
for  the  presence  of  her  sweet  spirit  with  unutterable  desire.  I 
am  sure  she  has  before  this  forgiven  me  the  unkindness  with 
which  I  treated  her  when  your  brother  Jules  was  born,  both 
previous  and  after  the  birth;  but  I  cannot  forgive  myself. 
Every  peculiarity  of  the  boy  is  a  reproach  to  me;  poor  fellow, 
I,  of  all  others,  should  be  more  patient  w^itK  him,  knowing  he  is 
not  responsible  for  any  strange  thing  he  may  do;  but  there  is 
something  about  him  which  exasperates  me  beyond  measure.'* 

Gertrude  made  no  answer,  for  her  father  was  not  less  a  mys 
tery  than  her  brother;  each  becoming,  as  the  years  went  by, 
more  unaccountable  to  their  friends.  Father  and  son  were  nearly 
the  exact  counterpart  of  each  other,  in  personal  appearance,  man- 
ner, general  characteristics,  and  workings  of  the  mind ;  the  dif- 
ference being  that  anything  peculiar  or  only  slightly  disagree- 
able in  the  father,  was  intensified  in  the  child. 

Seeing  the  distorted  reflection  of  himself  In  his  son,  who 
had  been  defrauded  of  his  birthright,  a  healthy  brain  and  even- 


IVHO   WERE  TO  BLAME.  135 

ly  balanced  mind,  by  his  father's  mistakes,  was  what  annoyed 
Eben;  but  this  he  did  not  understand  any  better  than  some 
other  of  his  own  experiences. 

It  is  said  a  wise  man  knows  himself,  but  Eben  Grieveau's 
self  was  a  riddle  he  had  never  solved,  and  therefore  failed  to 
comprehend  why  it  was  that  the  more  lonely  and  grieved  at 
the  loss  of  Myra  he  became,  the  more  ardently  he  wished  for 
the  society  of  women.  He  sometimes  thought  of  marrying, 
but  had  never  yet  seen  the  one  whom  he  could  endure  to  enstall 
in  her  vacant  place.  Now,  he  was  offered,  through  his  new 
friends,  and  their  strange  faith,  the  intimate  association  with 
women;  or,  if  he  chose  to  avail  himself,  even  their  affection; 
but  devoid  of  the  tie  which  binds  for  life,  and  which  under  some 
circumstances  is  so  irksome  that  any  desolation  is  preferred  rather 
than  submit  to  its  demands. 

Embracing  the  new  life  one  could  enjoy  this  companionship 
subject  to  certain  restrictions,  or,  let  it  alone.  He  could  be  the 
friend  of  agreeable  women  without  being  either  husband  or 
lover;  this  was  one  of  the  elements  which  enticed  him,  but  only 
one. 

Eben  really  believed  with  others  the  community  of  family 
and  home,  of  property  and  labor,  of  education  and  amusement, 
of  all  the  interests  which  go  to  make  up  life,  to  be  the  true  idea 
and  the  plan  intended  by  the  Creator  for  human  living. 

How  they  came  to  all  these  conclusions  from  any  premises 
found  is  past  comprehension,  but  to  this  end  had  these  men  read 
their  Bibles,  warping  their  judgment  to  suit  their  own  notions 
and  desires. 

We  have  yet  to  know  a  true-hearted  woman  of  sound  mind 
who  upholds  communism  of  the  sexes,  or  Mormonism,  when 
she  has  learned  the  practical  outcome  of  these  "  isms."  Women 
unless  demoralized,  preferring  starvation  to  being  fed  at  whole- 
sale, even  though  the  food  be  the  sweet  honey  of  love.  Some- 
times, when  thrown  upon  their  own  resources  for  support, 
women  of  the  worst  type  enter  houses  of  prostitution;  others, 
perhaps  not  much  less  abandoned,  aim  by  some  sort  of  make- 
shift, at  keeping  up  a  show  of  respectability  while  they  prey 
upon  society,  undermining  the  very  foundation  of  domestic  life. 

Set  apart  from  both  these  classes  are  those  rendered  des- 
perate by  wrongs,  over  whom  let  us  throw  the  pure,  white 
mantle  of  charity. 

But  we  will  not  believe  that  woman,  with  her  inborn,  de- 
vout, consecrated   nature,  can  ever  go  to  Communism   or  Mor- 


136  Tllli  STALIVARTS;   OR, 

monism;  or  in  any  way  use  religion,  knowingly,  purposely, 
willingly  as  a  cloak  for  her  sins;  they  enter  upon  these  un- 
natural, repulsive  ways  of  living  because  their  fathers,  their 
husbands  or  lovers  influence,  perhaps  coerce  them,  and  they  re- 
main enthralled  for  the  same  reason. 

However,  Eben  was  prevented  from  entering  community 
life,  although  he  held  to  this  faith  until  his  death,  probably  be- 
cause he  never  tried  the  system  by  experience. 

He  was  saved  in  this  wise:  About  six  months  after  the  mar- 
riage of  Gertrude  to  Mr.  Smythe,  Eben  became  acquainted 
with  a  lady  who  approached  nearer  his  ideal  than  any  other 
since  Myra's  death,  as  she  seemed  to  love  him  dearly,  they  were 
married,  and  he  was  more  cheerful  and  contented  than  for  many 
years. 

With  returning  happiness,  his  mind  acquired  a  healthier 
tone,  and  the  fanaticism  which  had  possessed  him,  was  held  in 
abeyance.     *      *      * 

While  these  things  were  transpiring,  Jules  was  growing, 
studying  and  thinking.  That  crooked  brain  of  his,  borti  crook- 
ed, was  leading  him  into  many  strange  ways.  He  was  pro- 
gressing rapidly  with  his  studies,  when  suddenly,  in  spite  of  all 
remonstrance,  he  dropped  them,  and  devoted  himself  to  the  in- 
vestigation of  the  new  religion  of  which  he  had  heard  so  much 
discussion  in  his  father's  family  before  his  recent  marriage. 
His  mind  once  directed  to  obstruse  dogma,  nothing  else  satisfied. 

Eben  being  a  believer,  did  not  discourage  this  turn  of  affairs, 
but  allowed  the  boy  to  leave  school  and  give  his  whole  time  to 
this  pursuit;  helping  him  to  all  the  books  needed,  furnished  by 
the  Community. 

Since  Eben's  marriage,  Jules  had  lived  with  his  sister  whose 
husband  still  superintended  the  Academy.  Mr.  vSmythe  never 
liked  him  over  well,  and  his  growing  peculiarities  and  some- 
times disagreeable  ways  were  antagonizing  him  still  more, 
and  it  was  often  difficult  for  Gertrude  to  keep  peace  between 
them.  This  caused  her  much  unhappiness,  for  she  had  been 
convinced  by  close  observation  that  her  brother  was  the  victim 
of  defective  mental  organization,  rendering  him  to  a  certain  ex- 
tent irresponsible,  and  calling  for  unusaal  forbearance  from  his 
relatives. 

One  day  in  a  sudden  fit  of  excitement,  the  usually  docile 
and  affectionate  boy,  at  least  to  his  sister,  whatever  he  might 
be  towards  others,  raised  an  ax  with  which  he  was  chopping 
wood,  attempting  to  strike  her;  only  that  she  sprang  away,  he 


1 17/0   WERE   TO  BLAME.  137 

would  have  felled  her  to  the  ground.  Frightened  and  astonished, 
Gertrude  hastened  into  the  house,  going  to  her  own  room, 
trying  to  collect  her  thoughts  and  make  up  'her  mind  what 
course  to  pursue  under  this  extraordinary  development,  for, 
though  Jules  was  often  uneasy,  fussy  and  easily  irritated  by  any- 
thing which  rasped  his  nerves,  she  had  never  before  seen  such 
a  demonstration.  Not  daring  to  tell  her  husband  what  had  oc- 
curred, full  well  knowing  from  past  experience  that  his  un- 
governable temper  would  be  roused  to  such  a  pitch,  unreason- 
able vengeance  would  come  upon  poor  Jules,  she  at  last  de- 
cided to  go  immediately  and  inform  Grandma  Brewster  of  what 
had  transpired,  asking  her  advice. 

Since  Eben's  marriage  she  had  bought  a  little  home  at  the 
other  end  of  the  village,  and  here  lived  alone.  Without  delay, 
Gertrude  putting  on  bonnet  and  shawl,  walked  over  to  her 
house,  and  w^ith  flushed  face  and  streaming  eyes  related  what 
had  happened.  They  agreed  that  not  a  word  should  be  said 
about  the  trouble  either  to  Mr.  Smythe  or  Eben. 

His  father  could  not  take  Jules  home  if  he  desired,  for  his 
wife  disliked  the  boy  extremely. 

Homeless  unfortunate,  upon  him  were  falling  the  conse- 
quences of  wrongs  inflicted  before  he  was  born.  Eben  would 
gladly  have  done  more  for  the  boy,  but  since  the  change  in  his 
family,  it  w^as  impossible,  and  his  conscience  distressed  him  in 
regard  to  Jules  as  never  before.  He  had  come  of  late  to  believe 
with  Grandma  Brewster  and  Gertrude,  that  something  was 
radically  wrong  and  twisted  in  the  make-up  of  the  boy's  mind; 
that  he  would  always  be,  growing  more  so  as  lbs  years  ad- 
vanced, erratic,  hard  to  get  along  with,  and  though  well  intention- 
ed,  to  some  people  disagreeable  and  troublesome.  That  he  was 
doomed  to  be  one  of  those  impractical  geniuses  who  fail  to  get 
a  good  grip  on  life,  are  unable  to  cope  with  their  fellows  in  the 
race,  sure  to  fall  behind,  sure  to  go  under. 

He  had  a  fair  amount  of  ability  in  certain  directions,  and 
was  at  times  the  extreme  of  good  nature;  then,  suddenly,  with- 
out warning,  would  become  unruly,  even  violent.  When  not 
moody  he  was  apt  to  be  restless  and  changeable,  could  not  be 
kept  long  enough  at  one  employment  to  accomplish  anything 
worth  while,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  if  he  took  a  notion  of  him- 
self, would  persist  contrary  to  any  advice  or  remonstrance,  until 
he  had  gained  the  object  undertaken  however  unwise  or  ridicu- 
lous. 

No  one  could  predict  what  would  come  of  it  all,  or  how  the 


138  THE  STALWARTS;   OK, 

strange,  unhappy  boy  would  turn  out.  It  was  long  years  be- 
fore the  inside  of  that  remarkably  constructed  brain  was  looked 
into,  and  as  yet  none  dreamed  of  the  catastrophe  which  was  to 
culminate  as  the  result  of  its  morbid  workings. 

Although  Gertrude  and  Grandma  Brewster  tried  to  keep 
the  knowledge  to  themselves,  a  man  employed  about  the  place 
had  seen  the  ax  raised  in  the  hand  of  Jules  to  strike  his  sister. 
Eben  soon  heard  of  the  trouble,  and  that  Mr.  Smythe  refused 
longer  to  be  annoyed  with  him. 

Eben  and  the  rest,  know^ing  it  was  not  his  nature  to  be  vin- 
dictive, revengeful  or  cruel,  were  more  than  ever  anxious  about 
the  boy,  really  at  their  wit's  ends,  trying  to  contrive  how  to  dis- 
pose of  him,  and  thankfully  accepted  Grandma  Brewster's  offer 
that  he  should  stay  w^ith  her  for  awhile.  She  said,  "  She  could 
manage  him,  and  they'd  get  along  nicely."  All  were  pleased 
and  the  transfer  was  made. 

Those  few  weeks  when  he  lived  with  Grandma,  cut  her 
wood,  built  her  fires,  milked  her  cow  and  went  errands  for  her, 
was  the  most  comfortable  time  he  had  spent  since  he  used  to 
walk  up  and  down  the  lake  shore  with  Gertrude  in  Wisconsin. 
Knowing  all  the  circumstances  of  his  birth,  and  taking  into  ac- 
count recent  events,  she  watched  him  closely  at  first,  and  with 
just  the  slightest  fear;  but  he  was  so  quiet,  affectionate  and  do- 
cile, she  w^as  encouraged  and  began  to  prophesy  that  "Jules 
would  take  a  turn,"  which  he  did  shortly,  and  an  unexpected 
one  it  was. 

Without  consulting  any  of  his  friends  he  abruptly  started  off 
for  the  "  Community,"  as  the  new  religionists  had  named  the 
place  of  their  abode,  and  was  missing  several  days  before  they 
learned  where  he  was;  then  the  news  came  by  letter  of  his 
whereabouts. 

It  seemed  he  had  saved  a  small  sum  of  money  from  the  pit- 
tance given  him  from  time  to  time,  and  as  railroads  were  then 
built  through  the  country,  he  was  soon  at  his  destination,  well 
satisfied  with  the  performance. 

When  Eben  heard  what  had  occurred,  he  felt  relieved  of  a 
heavy  load  which  he  knew  himself  incompetent  to  carry,  and 
placed  the  boy  as  soon  as  the  papers  could  be  made  out,  irrevoc- 
ably, during  his  minority,  in  the  custody  of  the  leaders  and 
rulers  of  the  association,  transferring  to  them  the  property  de- 
signed for  his  education  by  his  grandfather.  Dr.  Gascoigne. 

Foolish  Jules,  when  he  was  at  last  fixed  in  his  chosen  home, 
tied   hand   and  foot,  a  prisoner  under  a  cruel  despotism,  found 


lVI/0   WERE   TO  BLAME.  139 

what  had  been  done — the  kind  of  Hfe  he  was  expected  to  lead, 
and  why  the  emissaries  of  the  Community  had  worived  upon 
his  father  and  himself,  until  their  object  was  accomplished;  but 
there  was  no  helping  now  the  mistaken  action. 

Nothing  could  ever  convince  his  deluded  father  of  the  real 
state  of  things  at  this  place;  where  without  any  actual  knowl- 
edge of  their  practices  he  had  decided  his  boy  should  remain. 

Once  only  during  the  time  her  brother  was  at  the  Commu- 
nity did  Gertrude  unasked  intrude  upon  their  privacy,  and  dur- 
ing the  day  she  spent  with  him  they  were  so  closely  watched, 
not  one  word  of  special  conversation  was  secured,  and  all  she 
ascertained  of  his  feelings  or  condition  was,  that  he  seemed  like 
one  dazed  and  cowed  down  by  fear.  She  never  knew  until  he 
became  of  age,  and  she  could  interfere  in  his  behalf  and  he  was 
finally  released  from  their  tyranny,  to  what  cruelties  he  had  been 
subjected,  and  then  only  in  part. 

His  mind  being  full  of  imaginations  she  gave  little  credence 
to  his  stories  until  they  had  been  fully  corroborated  by  other 
testimony  horrible  as  true,  and  as  true  as  horrible.. 

When  the  proof  came  to  her  which  could  not  be  gainsayed,. 
that  a  woman,  induced  by  her  husband  to  go  with  him  and  enter 
this  Hell  upon  Earth,  had  been  found  by  her  brother,  a  respect- 
able farmer,  imprisoned  in  a  cellar  of  one  of  the  Community 
buildings;  she  a  raving  maniac,  her  lacerated  back  from  neck 
to  waist,  welted,  marked  with  festering  gore  from  the  lashes 
administered  to  drive  the  "Devil"  out  of  her,  as  they  said^ — a 
"  Devil  "  which  would  not  allow  of  her  giving  her  husband  up 
to  strange  women,  or  permit  her  cohabitation  with  strange  men. 
When  it  was  found  that  it  had  cost  ($25,000)  twenty-five  thou- 
sand dollars  to  suppress  this  testimony,  which  years  after  came 
out  in  court,  when  least  expected,  and  was  fully  proven  under 
oath  of  the  woman's  near  relatives;  then  Gertrude  and  others 
who  had  before  been  skeptical,  believed  what  had  been  called 
crazy  Jules'  wild  stories.  And  that  discipline  had  been  admin- 
istered in  this  socialistic  kome^  after  the  fashion  of  the  modern 
reformatories  for  criminals,  and  even  resorted  to  oftener  than 
is  ever  known  in  those  places  where  brain-sick  people  are  seclu- 
ded from  the  world  for  treatment.  Yes,  secluded  from  their 
friends,  too,  quite  as  effectually  by  the  watchful  regulation  of' 
"  visiting  day,"  the  supervision  and  retention  of  their  letters, 
and  other  ways  and  means  by  which  organized  power  can 
blind  even  the  solicitude  of  true  love,  can  cover,  when  occasion 
and  ample  pay  demands,  the  doings  of  Demons.     Can  make  it 


140  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

appear  that  sane  people  are  crazy,  and  render  crazy  people  still 
more  insane  by  treatment  which  includes  the  diet  of  bread  and 
water,  chains,  handcuffs,  straight-jackets,  dungeons,  the  cold 
douche,  sometimes  beatings  which  bring  the  blood  at  every 
blow. 

In  the  modern  insane  asylum  the  plea  for  using  these  refne- 
dial  measures^  is,  restraining  the  insane  impulse,  destroying  de- 
lusion, restoring  unbalanced  minds. 

The  Community  excused  their  brutality  by  averring  that  the 
Devil  must  be  driven  out  of  refractory  members — women  and 
children  were  the  usual  victims — occasionally  a  demented  man 
or  a  boy  received  chastisement. 

In  both  cases  the  inhumanities  practiced  should  be  investi- 
gated and  punished  by  the  severest  penalties  of  the  law. 

Finally  in  the  bitter  Winter  weather  at  fnidnight  yules  es- 
caped from  a  third  story  window^  walking  for  miles  to  reach 
his  sister  and  make  accusations  against  his  tormentors;  but  these 
things  had  not  been  established,  and  they,  making  excuse  as  to 
him  that  he  was  erratic  and  unruly,  which  was  in  some  degree 
true,  his  deluded  father  also  siding  with  them,  his  best  friends 
not  believing  him  entirely  responsible  for  all  his  sayings,  the 
matter  as  to  him  was  dropped. 

After  Jules  returned  to  his  sister  Gertrude's  home,  either 
from  the  natural  development  of  his  case,  or  from  the  cruel 
treatment  he  had  received  at  the  "  Community,"  he  was  still 
more  shattered  and  incapable  of  anything  practical.  His  friends 
tried  their  utmost  to  set  him  right,  but  his  mind  was  full  of 
vagaries  and  they  could  not  control  him,  seldom  would  he  be 
advised. 

As  Gertrude's  husband  had  turned  from  school  teaching  to 
the  study  of  law,  becoming  a  successful  practitioner,  Jules  was 
induced  to  enter  his  office  as  a  student  and  clerk;  the  usual 
time  elapsing,  he  was  admitted  to  the  bar,  much  to  their  sur- 
prise, upon  answering  two  out  of  the  three  questions  put  to  him 
— so  slack  was  the  examination  in  those  days,  conducted  by  one 
of  the  three  judges  appointed  for.  the  work  and  engineered 
through  proper  influence;  which  Jules  astonished  them  by  se- 
curing as  the  result  of  his  own  efforts,  for  he  had  an  unusual 
'faculty  of  ingratiating  himself  into  the  good  will  of  those  with 
whom  he  came  in  contact. 

When  it  was  over,  he  came  rushing  into  Gertrude's  little 
sitting-room  where  she  was  sewing,  with  her  three  year  old 
Elsie  by  her  side,  shouting,  "  I've  got  my  license,  I'm  admitted, 


lVI/0   WERE   TO  BLAME.  141 

hurrah!"  flourishing  the  important  paper  in  the  air  above  his 
head. 

*'  Why,  Jules,"  said  Gertrude,  "  how  did  you  manage  to 
pass?"  "Oh!"  answered  Jules,  "Charley  Rush  only  asked 
me  three  questions  and  I  knew  tivo^  and  he  let  me  go.  Ha!  ha! 
ha!"  ending  with  that  strange,  indescribable,  hideous  laugh, 
a  sure  indication  of  insanity,  and  which  Gertrude  recognized  as 
the  same  she  had  heard  the  day  he  raised  the  ax  to  strike  her 
(an  occurence  of  which  he  afterwards  seemed  entirely  oblivious). 
At  the  sound  her  blood  curdled  in  her  veins,  she  hardly  knew 
why — but  she  said  nothing. 

After  Jules  was  admitted  to  the  bar  his  unnatural  egotism, 
a  trait  also  often  indicating  insanity,  and  which  had  all  along 
been  a  marked  and  disagreeable  characteristic,  increased  to  such 
an  unbearable  degree  he  would  listen  to  no  advice,  endure  no 
restraint,  and  was  sure  he  knew  all  that  was  necessary  about 
everything;  yet  he  could  not  earn  his  own  food  or  clothing, 
and  was  incompetent  to  provide  for  himself. 

Gertrude  and  his  other  friends  worried  along  with  him  for 
a  while,  striving  to  keep  him  near  them ;  but  after  a  time  he 
drifted  away  notwithstanding  all  their  endeavors,  ceased  to 
communicate,  and  for  years  they  did  not  hear  from  him.  Poor 
Jules,  little  did  they  imagine  his  true  condition,  or  that  he  was 
growing  crazier  each  day — an  inevitable  result  of  his  pre-natal 
misfortunes.  When  at  last  tidings  came  to  them  of  their  wan- 
derer, the  ghastly  message  froze  the  blood  with  an  untold  hor- 
ror, of  those  who  still  loved  him  for  his  mother's  sake,  and  they 
were  struck  dumb,  quaking  with  a  deadly  fear. 

Eben  was  gone,  and  Grandma  Brewster,  only  Aunt  Lucille 
and  Gertrude  remained  to  do  battle  for  him  against  a  whole 
world. 


142  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


LUCILLE'S    VISION. 


Going  in  retrospect  a  few  years  to  about  the  time  when  Jules 
had  entered  the  "  Community,"  we  will  take  up  an  important 
stitch  which  was  dropped  in  the  yarn  we  are  manipulating.  As 
will  be  remembered,  Lucille  was  some  time  before  summoned 
to  the  bedside  of  her  brother  John,  whom  she  succeeded  in  nurs- 
ing back  to  life  through  one  of  those  low,  malignant  fevers 
which  often  shatter  the  constitution  beyond  repair. 

As  he  did  not  regain  his  health  and  strength  sufficiently  to 
endure  farm  labor^  they  disposed  of  the  place  as  soon  as  an  op- 
portunity presented,  purchasing  the  old  Grieveau  homestead  in 
the  village  of  Freelawn,  and  Lucille  having  consented  upon  their 
urgent  invitation  to  remain  with  them  after  hearing  of  the  mar- 
riage of  Eben  and  "  little  Gertrude,"  as  they  still  called  her, 
had  as  her  own  the  very  room  in  which  Mvra  died. 

Here  she  had  agonized  in  years  gone  by  as  she  now  felt  she 
could  never  again  suffer  for  her  lost  love's  sake,  but  although 
the  acuteness  of  her  first  grief  had  passed  away,  the  heart  hun- 
ger was  not  appeased. 

While  she  occupied  this  room,  saturated  with  memories,  un- 
til faces  seemed  to  stare  at  her  from  the  very  walls,  and  voices 
to  vibrate  through  the  air,  Lucille  had  an  experience  which  tore 
open  the  old  -wound  until  it  bled  afresh. 

On  a  warm  summer  day,  as  before,  when  she  had  that 
vision  of  Henry  going  far  away — just  such  a  day  over  again — 
a  day  when  her  soul  had  been  tortured  almost  to  the  verge  of 
escaping  from  the  body,  Lucille  was  again  brought  to  the  cli- 
max when  spirit  and  matter  well  nigh  part  company,  the  angel 
of  sleep  now  mercifully  tempering  her  sore  distress.  She 
dreamed  of  Henry  Armstrong,  and  he  at  the  altar,  a  beautiful 
young  bride  by  his  side,  flowers,  music,  all  beauty  and  joy  were 
there;  the  betrothed  pair  stood  before  the  sacred  man  in  somber 
gown,  the  ceremony  was  commenced;  at  the  proper  time, 
Henry  essayed  to  take  the  hand  of  her  he  would  wed,  but  a 
deathly  pallor  overspread  his  face,  and  the  strong  arm  dropped 
for  a  moment  powerless  by  his  side,  when,  proceeding,  the 
words  were  said,  "  I  -pronounce you  husband  and  wife^''  a  figure 


WHO  WERE   TO  BLAME  143 

exactly  like  Luciile's  own  self,  in  form  and  feature,  stepped  be- 
tween the  united  pair,  which  Henry  seeing,  turned  whiter  still, 
staggered,  and  fell. 

People  were  now  running  to  and  fro — "The  bridegroom  has 
a  sudden  illness,"  they  said;  and  Lucille  sat  dreaming  in  Myra's 
old  arm  chair,  as  she  had  done  fifteen  years  before  that  very 
day. 

Appalled — shuddering  with  terror — she  awoke,  and  for  days 
afterwards  she  could  not  shake  off  or  dispel  the  sense  of  dreary 
foreboding  caused  by  her  remarkable  dream.  But  this  is  scarcely 
or  fairly  altogether  retrospection. 


144  THE  STALWARTS;  OR 


CHATER  XIX, 

CI\'IL    WAR. 


While  these  things  were  transpiring,  the  whole  country, 
east,  west,  north  and  south,  was  becoming  excited  more  and 
more  as  the  years  went  by,  over  the  question  of  negro  slavery 
at  the  south.  Agitation  had  been  inaugurated  by  a  set  of  soft- 
hearted fanatics,  called  Abolitionists,  and  kept  up  by  designing 
politicians  until  Mrs.  Stowe's  story  of  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin" 
had  aroused  the  moral  sentiment  and  sympathies  of  a  majority  of 
the  northern  people  in  behalf  of  these  enslaved  negroes,  and 
they  determined  the  favorite  southern  institution  should  never 
be  extended  into  the  new  Territories  of  the  Union,  even  if  it 
could  not  be  exterminated  from  the  Southern  States. 

The  people  below  "  Mason  and  Dixon's  line,"  from  having 
become  accustomed  to  the  injustice  and  hardships  inflicted  by 
the  sanction  of  the  peculiar  slave  code,  ceased  to  regard  w^th 
horror  the  daily  spectacle  of  the  cruelties  and  inhumanities 
practiced. 

They  insisted  the  institution  was  permitted  by  Divine  writ, 
was  patriarchal  and  protecting  in  its  character,  best  for  the 
colored  race,  and  further,  when  they  chose  to  occupy  any  por- 
tion of  Uncle  Sam's  domain,  they  should  take  their  goods  and 
chattels,  that  is  their  slaves,  with  them;  the  Northerners  said, 
"  You  shall  not,"  and  thereufo7i  was  war. 

Before  this  final  catastrophe  there  had  been  much  commo- 
tion for  several  years. 

The  slaves  knew  from  Intuition,  as  well  as  by  rumor,  it 
seemed,  that  liberty  and  the  pursuit  of  individual  happiness  ex- 
isted for  them  at  the  North,  and  to  the  Northern  country  they 
were  determined  to  go,  leaving  their  dear  masters  far  behind. 

So  many  runaways  were  harbored,  encouraged  and  helped 
to  reach  the  Canadas,  by  the  residents  of  Northern  States,  that 
the  Southern  politicians  finally  succeeded  in  establishing  a  U.  S. 
Statute  called  "  The  fugitive  slave  law,"  which  required  that  all 
persons  should  give  up  escaping  slaves  upon  legal  demand  and 
provided  severe  penalties. 

But  notwithstanding  this  law,  fugitives  continued  running 
away  from  their  masters,  who  never  resorted  to   more  earnest 


W//0   WERE   TO  BLAME.  145 

measures  than  fifty,  one  hundred  or  more  lashes,  as  they  hap- 
pened to  fancy;  or  hunting  down  with  bloodhounds,  the  ani- 
mals often  tearing  their  victims  limb  from  limb;  or  burning  at 
the  stake,  and  other  similar  mild  means  for  the  reclamation  of 
their  cherished  bondsmen. 

And  although  the  severe  punishments  were  promptly  en- 
forced upon  anyone  convicted  of  violating  the  law,  the  queer 
set  of  soft-hearted  fanatics,  before  alluded  to,  contrived  what 
they  called  an  underground  railroad,  and  in  various  ways  assisted 
the  escape  of  these  men,  women  and  children,  who,  even  if 
covered  b}^  a  black  skin,  they  foolishly  believed  entitled  to  all 
the  political  privileges  and  protection  enjoyed  by  their  whiter 
complexioned  brothers  and  sisters. 

The  people  of  the  south  would  not  give  up  their  slaves,  but 
with  true  southern,  headstrong,  unreasonable  passion  and  grit, 
declared  through  their  leaders,  "  They'd  fight  for  what  they 
considered  their  rights,  until  the  last  man  lay  in  the  last  ditch." 

These  southern  slave-holders  had  grown,  generation  after 
generation,  rich  and  powerful  by  the  labor  and  suffering  of  their 
fellowmen,  until  they  were  proud,  arrogant  and  in  this  matter 
unprincipled,  freely  boasting  withal  of  their  honor.  "A  southern 
gentleman's  word  was  as  good  as  his  bond,"  said  they,  "  be  it  a 
gambling  debt  or  what  not,  did  he  owe  any  man,  the  obligation 
should  be  paid  at  maturity."  Why  not P  All  he  need  do,  sell 
a  slave  or  two  and  the  money  was  ready!  Easy  enough  to  be 
honorable  at  the  expense  of  some  one  else  suffering.  These 
men  hated  labor  and  the  laborer.  ''  No  northern  mud-sill  should 
dictate  to  them  as  to  the  right  or  wrong  of  their  actions  or  man- 
ner of  life,  that  w^as  their  own  affair."  Was  it?  The  sequel 
proved  it  to  be  an  affair  which  concerned  forces  far  above  either 
northern  mud-sill  or  southern  gentlemen,  moved  by  a  Power 
controlling  the  destiny  of  Races  and  of  Nations,  no  less  than  in- 
dividuals. 

There  were,  as  is  always  the  case  in  political  and  civil  con- 
tests, conservatives  both  at  the  South  and  the  North,  trying  their 
utmost  to  restrain  wrath  and  induce  peace,  but  they  found  it 
impossible  to  control  or  influence  in  any  great  degree,  either  of 
the  extremes  to  which  reference  has  been  made. 

The  Abolitionists  should  have  arranged  some  plan  where- 
by the  slave-holders  might  have  received  compensation  for  their 
slave-property,  or  a  system  of  gradual  emancipation  and  emi- 
gration should  have  been  established. 

And  yet  it  is  doubtful,  had  such  a  proposition  been  made,  if 

10 


146  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

it  would  have  been  favorably  received  ;  the  ownership  of  human 
beings  was  so  profitable  and  satisfying  an  investment,  that 
scarcely  One  less  than  The  Omnipotent  could  have  wrested  them 
away. 

And  the  wrongs  perpetrated  under  the  delusion  that  Divin- 
ity gave  sanction,  were  at  the  last  atoned  for  in  blood  and  dire 
agony,  such  as  only  the  carnage  of  war  can  bring. 

For  several  years,  while  these  contending  parties  were  rang- 
ing themselves  on  either  side  for  the  final  battle,  during  each 
political  campaign,  the  points  at  issue  would  crowd  to  the  sur- 
face, and  neither  the  peace-makes  North  or  South  could  pre- 
vent or  retard  for  any  length  of  time  the  imminent* catastrophe. 
But  instinctively  feeling  if  ever  the  extremes  met  face  to 
face,  a  long  and  bitter  war  must  be  the  result — in  sheer  dread 
they  used  their  utmost  endeavor  trying  to  stay  the  calamity,  and 
might  perhaps  have  been  successful  had  not  foreign  influences, 
as  the  sequel  proved,  been  added  to  the  already  disturbed  con- 
dition of  our  politics. 

Finally,  Abraham  Lincoln,  the  pioneer  rail-splitter,  the  re- 
nouned  story-teller,  the  hard  working  lawyer  of  Illinois:  a  man 
who  quietly,  persistently, /^i?«gi•//y  had  worked  his  way  from  an 
illiterate,  over- worked,  back- woods-man  to  be  one  of  the  first 
lawyers  in  his  state;  a  man  who  could  cope  with  the  giant  in- 
tellect of  a  Douglas  in  debate,  and  not  be  overcome,  but  rather 
bear  away  the  laurels;  a  man  without  spot  or  blemish  to  detract 
from  the  beauty  and  purity  of  his  character;  a  man  of  whom 
every  honest  northern  working  man  was  justly,  and  ever  will 
be  proud;  this  man,  a  King  amojig  /;^^;2.^  was  nominated  for 
President  of  the  United  States,  by  the  party  lately  consolidat- 
ed from  the  old-time  Whig,  the  recent  Free-soil  and  other 
abolition  parties,  and  aptly  named  to  catch  the  popular  fancy. 
Republican. 

The  new  coalition  swept  the  country,  and  Abraham  Lincoln 
was  elected  President. 

At  this,  the  southern  slave  Oligarchy  and  the  northern  Dem- 
agogues were  rampant. 

They  declared  *'The  low-lived  mud-sill,  the  black-hearted 
abolitionist,"  as  they  named  him,  should  never  take  his  seat 
in  the  presidential  chair,  or  occupy  the  White  House  at  Wash- 
ington, and  his  assassination   was  freely  threatened. 

The  Southerners  were  in  dead  earnest  and  forthwith  pre- 
pared for  war,  though   not  openly.       Wheii  they  we7'e  ready  a- 


in/O   //'/-.A'/-;    7\>  BLAME.  147 

test  case    was   forced   at    Sumpter,  and  the  Fort  was  fired  upon 
by  the  Rebels,  as  they  were  now  styled. 

In  the  mean  time  the  journey  had  been  safely  made  by  the 
newly  elected  President,  from  his  home  in  Springfield,  Illinois, 
and  the  inauguration  had  taken  place  in  Washington. 

Only  after  the  Rebels  commenced  glaring  hostilities,  did  the 
North  awaken  to  the  fact  of  civil  war.  Before  this  the  majority 
North  and  South  believed  all  the  menaces  and  commotion  to  be 
but  the  idle,  violent  talk  of  politicians  determined  to  gain  their 
point; — noiu  they  realized  that  cannon  were  to  roar  and  musket- 
ry to  rattle,  that  armed  men  were  to  march  to  and  fro  in  con- 
flict; that  sons,  husbands,  fathers  were  to  leave  their  homes; 
that  widows  and  orphans  were  to  fill  the  land;  that  there  was 
to  be  suffering  dire,  and  death,  aud  broken  ties,  and  grief  un- 
utterable. 

And  zvomen  held  still  their  hearts^  zvhile  men  zcent  Jorth  to 
battle. 

One  of  the  very  first  responding  at  his  country's  call  was 
John  Gascoigne.  Leaving  Lucille  and  Julia  with  the  boy 
Charley  who  had  grown  quite  a  lad,  in  the  old  place  to  attend 
the  store  and  post  office  as  best  they  could,  John  started  for  the 
headquarters  of  the  regiment,  then  recruiting  in  their  vicinity. 
He  had  received  the  assurance  from  friends  and  neighbors,  es- 
pecially from  Uncle  Tut  and  Aunt  Debby,  that  they  would 
have  a  care  for  his  family,  and  Julia  who'had  alwa/s  been  a 
stirring  sort  of  woman,  he  knew  would  find  no  difficulty  in 
managing  the  business.  Lucille,  at  John's  request,  was  ap- 
pointed in  his  place  as  postmistress,  an  innovation  inaugurated 
during  the  war,  paving  the  way  for  the  after  prominence  of 
women  in  national  affairs. 

John  entered  the  Western  Division  of  the  army,  volunteer- 
ing as  a  common  soldier,  and  some  time  elapsed  before  he  was 
brought  into  special  prominence.  The  Bull  Run  disaster  had 
occurred,  also  the  partial  victory  of  the  second  Bull  Run  fight, 
before  the  Western  Division  accomplished  anything  of  note. 

Both  the  northern  and  southern  armies  had  advanced  and 
been  repulsed  time  and  again,  many  battles  been  fought,  and 
the  war  was  extending  into  years  instead  of  terminating  in  a 
few  months,  as  had  at  first  been  predicted,  and  nothing  was 
heard  except  by  his  family  and  neighbors,  concerning  ^John 
Gascoigne;  he  had,  to  be  sure,  been  in  a  good  manv  engage- 
ments of  more  or  less    importance,  enduring  his  full  share'^of 


148  THE  STALWARTS;    OR, 

hardships,  but  was  yet  only  an  atom  in  the  great  whole,  only  a 
soldier  in  the  Army  of  the  Republic. 

At  last  a  hardly  contested  battle  was  fought  on  the  Missis- 
sippi, the  result  being  a  surprise  to  the  country,  when  it  was 
known  a  decided  gain  had  been  made  for  the  North. 

It  was  also  found  that  John  Gascoigne,  who  had  risen  from 
the  ranks  to  an  honorable  place  without  attracting  particular 
attention,  was  the  hero  of  the  hour,  and  he  was  given  a  high 
position  as  his  hard  earned  reward,  with  the  title  of  General. 

Soon  after  he  w^as  transferred  to  the  Army  of  the  Potomac 
and  placed  in  command  of  a  division.  As  he  was  to  be  per- 
manently in  the  East  and  could  have  his  famiily  near  him,  they 
decided  upon  removing  to  Washington  where  his  headquarters 
would  be;  and  Lucille,  Julia  and  the  boy  Charley,  all  who  were 
left  of  the  family  in  Freelawn,  made  preparations  for  the  change. 
Ere  the  departure,  his  towns-people  were  made  happy  by  a 
visit  from  Gen.  John  A.  Gascoigne,  now  without  doubt  carrying 
with  his  name  a  proud  renoun. 

A  glorious  reception  they  accorded  him,  prompted  by  hearty 
good  will,  compensating  for  many  a  sorrow  and  hardship. 

In  the  midst  of  the  rejoicing  a  telegram  announced  a  con- 
ference of  the  Generals  of  the  Eastern  Army  v/ith  the  Presi- 
dent and  Commander-in-Chief,  the  revered  Lincoln;  and  Gen. 
Gascoigne  must  hasten  away. 

Farewells  were  hastily  spoken,  and  the  next  morning  they 
had  started  by  rail  on  their  way  to  Washington. 

Again  passing  through  Chicago,  they  saw  not  the  sloppy, 
muddy,  little  Indian  town  of  the  years  before,  but  a  flourishing, 
enterprising  city  with  its  comfortable  hotels,  its  blocks  of  iron, 
and  stone  and  brick  for  business  and  residence,  with  its  paved 
streets  and  stone  side-walks,  its  marvelous  water  works,  its  cen- 
tering rail  roads,  its  commerce  and  trade — one  of  the  wonder- 
ful young  cities  of  this  great  but  still  new  country. 

Our  friends  remained  over  night  and  after  dining  at  one  of 
the  hotels.  Gen.  Gascoigne,  who  had  a  matter  of  business  which 
needed  looking  after,  and  was  also  curious  to  note  the  improve- 
ments, strolled  out  leisurely  examining  some  of  the  former  land- 
marks and  more  noticable  recent  buildings. 

As  he  stood  gazing  upon  the  old  Court  House,  long  since 
passed  away,  born  swiftly  in  the  Fire-King's  flame  wreathed 
chariot,  but  which  was  at  that  time  considered  an  achievement  in 
architecture  not  to  be  despised ;  Gen.  Gascoigne  presented  a  type 
of  manhood  seldom  seen. 


IVHO  WERE   TO  BLAME.  149 

His  frame  of  grand  proportions  was  symetrically  formed, 
his  carriage  strikingly  noble,  and  there  was  something  indescrib- 
able in  the  free  springing  stride,  and  lofty,  independent  manner 
of  throwing  up  his  head,  shaking  back  from  the  massive  brow 
the  superb  shock  of  long  and  heavy  jet-black  hair,  entirely 
different  from  any  other,  reminding  by  its  strong,  straight, 
ebony  masses,  of  the  Indian  chiefs  who  ruled  the  tribes  of  the 
wilderness  in  olden  times. 

Hair  the  same  in  color  and  in  its  luxurient  growth,  as  the 
remarkable  mustache  reaching  down,  over,  and  almost  covering 
the  dark-hued  beard,  sombre  as  midnight. 

Hair,  beard  and  mustache  matching  the  magnificent  far-see- 
ing, passionate  eyes;  not  those  ordinary  black  eyes,  small,  bead- 
like and  repulsive — but  the  glorious,  uncommon  eyes,  speaking 
from  soul  to  soul,  and  which  are  so  very  rare. 

Altogether,  Gen.  John  A.  Gascoigne  was  a  man  scarcely  to 
be  encountered  in  a  life  time,  and  when  once  beheld,  never  for- 
gotten. 

Whether  his  unusually  handsome  and  distingue  appear- 
ance had  attracted  the  strange  creature  at  his  feet,  can  not  be 
said,  but  suddenly  an  unmistakable  negro  "Hi,  hi,  hi!  massa!" 
called  his  surprised  attention  to  the  most  ludicrous  figure  the 
general  had  ever  seen ;  kneeling  before  him  on  the  stone  side- 
walk was  an  old  darkey  wrapt  in  admiration,  his  bald  head 
thrown  back,  the  coal-black,  velvety  eyes  displaying  a  wide 
margin  of  glistening  china-white,  the  great,  thick,  red  lips 
parted  in  wonder  and  adoration,  revealing  the  whitest  of  teeth; 
the  clasped  hands  uplifted  as  in  prayer; — who  was  known  to 
every  one  about  town  from  his  pitiful  condition  and  grotesque 
appearance,  as  "Crazy  Leonard."  His  dress  was  even  more  re- 
markable than  his  strange  conduct;  by  his  side  he  had  carefully- 
placed  his  hat,  when  in  mute  admiration  falling  prostrate  at 
the  feet  of  the  General,  and  this  was  in  itself  a  curiosity,  ever 
changing  in  the  light  of  each  new  day  as  the  chameleon  of  many 
hues.  A  silk  hat,  though  dilapidated,  nothing  less  suited 
Leonard's  aristocratic  ideas,  but  the  decorations  surpassed  any- 
thing before  attempted   in  the  line  of  millinery  under  the  sun. 

One  day  an  immense  bunch  of  artificial  roses,  a  tin- star,  or 
tag,  such  as  are  used  for  labeling  various  articles,  a  long  feather 
from  ostrich,  peacock,  turkey  or  shanghai,  as  he  had  the  fortune 
to  find;  bows  of  ribbon  of  different  gay  colors  completed  the 
trimming,  but  never  twice  alike  did  this  eccentric  head-gear  ap- 
pear in  public. 


150  THE  S'lAUVARTS:   OR, 

The  other  garments  comprising  a  man's  apparel  were  al- 
ways of  well  worn  black  doe-skin  or  broadcloth,  this  also  being 
his  idea  of  gentility,  and  were  set  off  in  the  same  outlandish 
fashion;  the  effort  being  mostly  expended  upon  the  front  of  his 
coat  and  vest. 

All  will  concede  that  the  personelle  of  this  poor  fellow  was 
quite  strange  enough,  but  when  that  enormous  mouth  opened 
the  astonishment  and  interest  increased. 

"  Hi-hi-hi,  massa,  praise  de  Lord  dat  poor  Leonard  see  you. 
I's  lub  struck,  I  is,  but  I's  a  good  boy.  Leonard  come  clean 
back-yard  if  massa  say  so.  Leonard  nebber  do  any  harm.  I's 
lub  struck,  I  is,  dat's  what  ails  poor  Leonard.  Massa  down  in 
ole  Virgin ny  take  my  'Liza  'way  wid  him,  neber  see  her  no  mo, 
neber  no  mo,  for  shuah.  ''\Az2i^  mighty  nice  gal,  yellow  as  a 
sunflower,  but  she  done  gone  'way,  shziah.  Leonard'U  come 
clean  back-yard,  stay  to  dinner  if  massa  say  so.  Leonard's  lub 
struck,  'scuse  poor  Leonard,  hi-hi-hi,  massa."  This  speech  was 
delivered  with  a  pitiful  pathos  of  intonation,  impossible  to  imi- 
tate, ending  in  attempted  merriment,  still  more  pitiful.  Mak- 
ing a  very  low  bow,  he  arose,  placed  his  wonderful  hat  on 
his  empty  head,  and  then  apparently  reconsidering,  took  it  in 
his  hand,  waiting  patiently  for  the  General  to  speak. 

So  surprised  was  General  Gascoigne  at  the  spectacle  before 
him,  he  could  not  immediately  recover  himself,  but  at  length 
taking  in  the  man's  condition,  that  of  a  harmless  lunatic,  he 
thrust  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  draw  ing  out  some  loose  change, 
which  he  offered  him. 

To  his  amazement  crazy  Leonard  drew  himself  up  with 
great  dignity,  lifting  his  hat  again  to  his  head,  and  with  a  most 
courtly  bow,  a  gracious,  condescending  smile,  he  answered, 
*'  No  massa,  no,  keep  dem  yourself,  Leonard  don't  want  no  such 
trash;  he's  got  plenty  jinglers  too — see  hyar — "  and  taking  a 
handful  of  odd  buttons,  bits  of  tin  and  little  trinkets  which  he  had 
picked  up  in  his  wanderings,  from  the  deep  pockets  in  the  tails 
of  his  long  frock  coat,  he  proudly  displayed  his  treasures. 

After  a  little,  being  satisfied  at  the  interest  manifested  by  his 
auditor  in  his  stores,  crazy  Leonard  walked  away;  but  a  few 
minutes  later  the  General  was  conscious  of  some  one  following, 
and  looking  round,  saw  his  admirer  walking  behind  him  at  a 
respectful  distance;  keeping  right  along,  when  General  Gas- 
coigne reached  his  hotel  Leonard  seated  himself  with  the  utmost 
complacence  near  by  on  the  piazza. 

A  group  of  gentlemen  soon  had  the  General  in  conversation, 


IV HO   WERE   TO  BLAME.  151 

for  he  was  a  favorite  wherever  he  went.  Leonard  sat  still 
drinking  in  every  word  that  fell  from  his  lips,  and  as  l:tefore, 
wrapt  in  admiration.  General  Gascoigne  prevented  the  servants 
from  molesting  him,  and  moyed  with  pity,  handed  the  porter  a 
quarter  to  find  a  bed,  and  another  for  supper,  to  be  furnished 
the  harmless  demented  creature. 

,\t  the  usual  time  the  hotel  guests  went  to  their  rooms  and 
crazy  Leonard  was  forgotten. 

The  next  morning  early,  the  General  and  his  party  took  the 
train  for  Washington.  When  all  were  settled  in  their  places, 
and  the  conductor  was  passing  through  for  fares,  a  commotion 
was  raised  by  an  effort  to  put  a  colored  man  off  the  cars  because 
of  non-payment,  He  screamed  and  struggled  until  the  atten- 
tive of  the  passengers  was  attracted.  The  man  proved  to  be 
Leonard,  who  insisted  he  belonged  to  the  General's  party,  and 
must  remain  in  the  same  car  to  wait  upon  him.  General  Gas- 
coigne recognizing  his  adorer  of  the  night  before,  rather  enjoy- 
ing the  joke  and  the  ludicrousness  of  the  situation,  came  to  the 
rescue,  paid  half  fare  and  had  him  placed  in  a  second-class  car 
upon  his  assurance  that  he  would  "  Keep  quiet  and  be  a  good 
boy,"  deciding  in  his  own  mind  to  take  him  to  Washington  and 
if  necessary  place  him  in  an  asylum. 

Leonard  caused  no  further  trouble,  but  when  the  company- 
disembarked  for  meals,  was  introduced  to  the  ladies  and  gave 
them  much  entertaiment;  to  Julia  especially  was  he  attracted, 
as  he  had  been  to  the  General,  seeming  to  be  fascinated  by  the 
pronounced  and  strong  type  of  physical  beauty  for  which  the 
couple  were  celebrated. 

Julia  declared  she  would  keep  him  near  her,  and  ever  after 
General  Gascoigne's  establishment  was  adorned  by  crazy  Leon- 
ard, and,  in  many  ways  he  became  useful,  after  they  got  him 
toned  down  as  to  dress  and  some  other  particulars;  Julia  hu- 
mored his  caprice  for  bright  colors  and  decorations,  and  when 
dressed  in  the  English  lackey  style,  with  his  own  daily  additions 
which  he  continued  to  pick  up,  his  taste  for  the  grotesque  was 
fully  gratified. 

Little  by  little  they  learned  his  strangfe  history,  as  he  had 
lucid  intervals  and  could  remember  and  talk  with  some  degree 
of  rationality. 

He  was  a  fugitive  slave,  having  in  bondage  a  good  enough 
master,  as  masters  are,  allowing  his  slaves  more  privileges  and 
better  education  than  was  usual.  Leonard  being  body-servant, 
almost  even  a  business   manager,  (for  he    had    possessed   more 


152  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

than  ordinary  intelligence)  being  about  the  house  and  his  per- 
son constantly,  it  happened  that  he  fell  desperately  in  love 
with  a  comely  yellow  girl  whom  his  master  had  as  a  mistress. 

This  fact  coming  to  the  eyes  of  the  master,  for  love  cannot 
be  concealed  even  under  a  black  skin,  he  ordered  his  faithful 
servant  to  be  severely  flogged  for  his  impudence,  as  he  called  it, 
also  the  poor  girl,  because  he  said,  "She  had  encouraged  a  lover." 

After  the  man  had  recovered  from  his  terrible  punishment, 
he  did  not  cease,  night  or  dav,  to  revolve  in  his  mind  how  he 
might  escape  from  this  cruel  thralldom,and  rescue  his  love  from 
her  desperate  fate. 

At  last  the  opportunity  came,  and  giving  the  girl  assurance 
that  he  would  steal  or  buy  her,  after  he  secured  his  own  free- 
dom, he  started  on  his  perilous  journey  for  the  Canadas,  reach- 
ing his  destination  with  the  usual  risks  and  vicissitudes. 

Several  years  elapsed  and  by  hard  work  Leonard  accumu- 
lated a  small  sum  of  money.  Hearing  of  the  John  Brown  ex- 
peditions which  had  been  organized  for  the  purpose  of  running 
slaves  off  to  Canada  from  the  South,  he  joined  them,  and  started, 
full  of  hope,  for  the  heart  of  the  southern  country  where  the 
old  plantation  was  situated,  intending  b}-  secret  negotiations  to 
buy  his  lost  love.     If  this  failed,  carry  her  away  by  force. 

The  party  reached  Harper's  Ferry  in  safety,  where  they 
stopped  for  rest  and  arms.  Here  they  were  joined  by  their 
chief  and  a  small  squad  of  his  men,  among  them,  as  turned  out 
years  after,  the  son  of  Eben  and  Myra  Grieveau,  who  come 
across  and  naturally  afiih'ated,  with  these  intensely  conscientious 
Abolitionists,  when  he  had  drifted  away  from  his  friends.  For 
all  his  inherited  tendencies  prompted  Jules  Grieveau  to  sym- 
pathy with  the  oppressed  wherever  found.  Although  at  that 
time  he  was  considered  a  strange  man  with  queer  notions,  his 
real  insa?zity  had  not  developed  to  the  marked  degree  which 
would  attract  attention  among  a  concourse  of  zealous  fanatics, 
certainly  themselves  could  not  recognize  a  disease  so  nearly  al- 
lied to  their  own  condition. 

This  visionary  brain  was  quick  to  grasp  the  scheme  of  their 
leader,  the  noble-hearted  and  philanthrophic,  though  mistaken, 
John  Brown,  and  he  went  into  the  work  with  an  enthusiasm 
unexcelled  by  any  of  the  others.  He  took  a  special  interest  in 
the  case  of  Leonard,  who  was  seeking  his  lost  love;  for  Jules 
had  himself  been  disappointed  and  defrauded  even  before  en- 
tering the  "Community,"  and  a  boy's  love  is  sometimes  as  pure 
and  earnest,  if  not   intense   to  the  degree  of  those  passionate 


WHO  WERE   TO  BLAME.  153 

affections  of  later  life.  Many  a  man  carries  the  ineffaceable  scar 
of  a  wound  inflicted  in  the  years  so  full  of  tender  memories,  of 
youthful  endeavor,  of  honest  purpose,  before  he  has  passed  from 
the  teens  into  the  twenties.  Jules  Grieveau's  brooding  fancies 
and  morbid  tendencies  were  not  dispelled  or  cured  by  this,  to 
him,  sad  experience,  and  possibly  it  had  much  to  do  with  the 
after  developments  in  his  case. 

Soon  the  raiders  secreted  in  the  old  barn  at  Harper's  Ferry 
were  surprised,  surrounded  and  captured  after  a  desperate  fight 
with  United  States  troops;  a  few  only  escaping,  among  them 
Jules  Grieveau,  who,  as  afterwards  transpired,  wandered  still 
further  away  towards  Ohio  and  Kentucky,  with  the  vague  idea 
of  finding  Leonard's  girl  and  bringing  her  back  to  the  North; 
at  least,  this  seemed  his  first  idea,  but  his  mind  soon  turned  to 
its  wonted  fanaticism.  Years  after,  in  the  course  of  testimony 
given  under  oath  by  various  persons,  Jules'  friends,  from  whom 
he  had  disappeared  during  this  time,  were  surprised  to  learn  he 
had  been  a  constant  traveler  throughout  the  Eastern,  Western, 
Middle,  and  Southern  States;  actually  traversing  the  Continent 
from  ocean  to  ocean.  How  he  managed  will  never  be  known, 
but  it  is  certain  that  he  had  no  settled  or  visible  means  of  sup- 
port; his  story  being  that  he  w^as  "getting  in  his  work  for  the 
Lord,"  lecturing  and  distributing  pamphlets,  both  of  the  intensely 
fanatical  type,  which  characterized  his  insanity  more  and  more 
until  the  end.  He  said,  when  under  oath  in  his  own  behalf,  "I 
reckon  some  of  you  would  call  me  a  tramp,  but  I  only  did  as  the 
Lord  told  his  disciples  to  do,  taking  my  staff  and  going  from  city 
to  city,  giving  no  thought  as  to  what  I  should  eat  or  what  I  should 
wear.  I  had  a  hard  time  getting  in  my  work  for  the  Lord,  I 
can  tell  you,  and  was  often  hungry  and  cold,  and  knew  not 
where  to  lay  my  head;  but  then  it  was  no  harder  than  Paul  and 
the  Master  had,  and  it's  all  right,  I  am  satisfied.  Fd  rather  be 
one  of  the  LorcCs  '  trafnps^  than  any  of  those  rich  men  who 
can  no  more  enter  Heaven  than  a  camel  can  get  through  the 
eye  of  a  needle."  And  thus  at  the  last  the  poor  crazy  fellow 
unwittingly  reproved  and  convicted  the  selfish,  worldly  crowd, 
gloating  in  his  torture.  But  all  those  years  the  homeless  man 
wandered  and  w^andered,  growing  more  forlorn  and  insane 
each  day. 

John  Brown  and  several  of  the  captured  men,  convicted  of 
inciting  an  insurrection  and  of  treason,  were  hung;  martyrs  to 
the  cause  of  Human  Freedom. 

No  proof  was  adduced  convincing  to  the  unprejudiced,  that 


154  THE  STALIVARTS;   OR, 

they  intended  arousing  the  southern  slaves  to  insurrection  or 
violence  of  any  kind,  but  only  to  help  those  who -were  cruelly 
treated  in  gaining  their  freedom,  furnishing  arms  for  defense 
should  they  be  attacked,  but  not  for  the  purpose  of  commenc- 
ing hostilities. 

This  jnst  and  philanthropic  plan  might  have  saved  the  desola- 
tion of  a  civil  w^ar;  however,  it  proved  not  to  be  the  order  of 
Fate  or  Providence,  as  you  will. 

While  Leonard  lay  in  prison,  the  girl  he  loved  was  so 
severely  punished  for  some  trifling  offense,  by  the  master  who 
hated  her  since  finding  she  preferred  another  man  to  himself, 
(for  a  licentious  man  is  invariably  wickedly  jealous),  that  after 
excruciating  torture,  she  died. 

When  Leonard  learned  what  had  happened,  this,  together 
with  the  execution  of  his  loved  commander,  John  Brown,  and 
the  immediate  breaking  out  of  the  war,  dethroned  his  reason, 
and  he  became  the  wreck,  the  harmless  lunatic  we  have  shown 
you. 

Even  crazy  Leonard  w^as  afterwards  avenged ;  the  fatal  doom 
falling  upon  one  at  least,  who  was  surely  concerned  in  the  sad 
outcome  of  a  national  tragedy,  receiving  just  punishment  through 
his  instrumentality. 


^BO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  155 


CHAPTER  XX. 

IN   THE  "ROCKIES." 


Fifteen  years  had  now  elapsed,  not  one  of  his  former  friends 
receiving  any  word  from  Henry  Armstrong,  since  the  night 
when  he  stood  by  Lucille's  prostrate,  sadly  wasted  form,  and  in 
her  pale  face  saw  the  unutterable  love,  joyous  peace  and  trust, 
which  settled  upon  her  heart  at  sight  of  him;  and  then  in  sheer 
weakness,  closing  her  eyes,  they  both  by  Fate  had  been  de- 
frauded. For,  was  not  another  man  seen  bending  tenderly  and 
with  an  unmistakable  air  of  ownership,  over  Lucille;  looking 
after  her  welfare;  standing  between  Henry  and  his  long  lost 
love,  whom  he  had  so  nearly  regained  only  to  be  irretrievably 
and  bitterly  disappointed? 

For  this  man  must  surely  be  Lucille's  husband,  and  the  child 
lying  by  her  side,  their  own,  the  image  of  its  mother. 

It  was  fifteen  years  since  that  memorable  night  when  the 
stage  passengers  had  alighted  and  taken  part  in  the  fight  over 
Tutty  Swanson's  claim,  but  the  picture  of  Lucille,  her  husband 
and  child,  was  indelibly  inscribed  upon  Henry's  mind. 

No  change  of  scene,  no  occupation,  or  power  of  his  will 
had  effaced  that  heart-rending  sight,  all  these  years.  Goaded 
on  by  memory  it  had  been  impossible  for  him  to  remain  very 
long  at  a  time  in  any  place,  and  he  had  become  a  restless,  in- 
trepid, indefatigable  traveler.  Going  back  to  this  period,  we 
will  follow  him  in  his  wanderings. 

The  destination  of  his  party  being  only  a  few  days'  journey 
beyond  Freelawn,  the  plan  had  been  to  remain  here  for  some 
little  time,  taking  up  land  and  perhaps  laying  out  a  town.  After 
this  was  accomplished  Henry  would  return  to  Freelawn  and 
find  Lucille;  but  the  adventure  at  the  claim  changed  everything 
and  very  soon  Henry  declared,  after  looking  about  for  a  few^ 
days,  his  intention  of  starting  immediately  and  going  further 
West,  a  resolve  from. which  his  friends  could  not  dissuade  him. 
In  fact  he  had  been  so  queer  since  the  night  of  the  fight  at  the 
claim,  they  could  not  make  him  out,  and  were  puzzled  to  know 
what  had  happened  to  him.  He  said  he  was  sick,  but  they 
were  sure  something  more  than  physical  illness  ailed  him ;  he 
w^as  depressed,  absent  minded,  and    so  disagreeable,  moody  and 


156  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

fretful,  they  scarcely  cared  how  soon  he  and  they  parted  com- 
pany. 

The  bantering  and  surv^eilance  of  his  companions  was  be- 
coming unbearably  irksome,  and  he  determined  to  leave  them 
and  every  reminder  of  the  sad  past  behind  him,  traveling  w^hile 
his  money  lasted;  by  what  route  or  the  final  destination  was  to 
him  of  little  consequence;  things  old  or  new  could  have  small 
interest,  only  serving  to  help  his  despondency  and  grief,  perhaps 
temporarily,  he  was  well  aware. 

Henry  realized  that  a  mistake  not  to  be  rectified  had  been 
made,  and  the  only  woman  he  ever  really  cared  to  make  his 
wife,  was  lost  to  him    forever. 

He  had  liked  many  women,  enjoyed  their  society  in  certain 
ways,  but  he  at  last  fully  understood  that  no  other  one  could 
satisfy  entirely,  or  appreciate  him  as  Lucille  would  have  done; 
but  it  was  of  no  use  now  repining;  by  action,  business,  change, 
he  would  drive  her  from  his  mind.  Such  advantage  do  m.en 
have  over  women;  for  a  time  they  suffer  more  intensely  possi- 
bly, with  an  actual  physical  misery,  but  they  succeed  in  over- 
coming and  forgetting  sooner;  and  besides  they  have  the  whole 
field  of  sweets  to  sip  from,  when  they  choose  to  avail  themselves 
of  the  privilege. 

Henry  disconsolately  determined  to  sever  all  connection  with 
his  past  existence,  pressing  on  and  hoping  for  a  better  future; 
when  he  bade  his  friends  good  bye,  feeling  himself  entering 
upon  a  life-long  journey,  and  this,  time  proved.  Drifting  aim- 
lessly, his  first  rest  was  at  a  new^  place  called  Galena,  because 
extensive  lead  mines  were  found  there.  As  he  still  had  some 
money  left,  and  was  sure  of  a  regular  remittance  from  the  es- 
tate bequeathed  to  him  by  his  Uncle  in  Bentonville,  New  York, 
Henry  invested  in  a  new  mine  just  opened,  and  in  after  years 
yielding  a  fair  income.  Through  this  enterprise  he  formed  and 
retained  a  number  of  pleasant  acquaintances;  one  to  whom 
Henry  was  especially  attracted,  was  a  man  of  medium  size, 
rather  stout  in  build,  possessing  an  honest  face  with  good,  blue 
grey  eyes.  This  new  friend  had  recently  married  an  amiable 
lady,  and  they  were  starting  in  an  humble  way,  working  out 
their  destiny  together.  Many  a  social  hour  did  Henry  spend 
in  their  comfortable  home,  oblivious  apparently  of  former  ties, 
finding  rest  for  both  body  and  heart,  chatting  cheerily,  rumi- 
nating, smoking,  always  together,  for  these  men  were  even 
then  most  inveterate  smokers,  though  still  young. 

A  habit  growing  with  years,  and    to  which  one  owed  per- 


IVHO  WEKE   TO  BLAME.  157 

haps  much  of  his  success  in  life,  though  in  the  end  causing  a 
painful  death;  for  his  subsequent  great  opportunities  came  to 
him  in  such  shape,  that  only  quiet,  plucky,  bull-dog  grit  and 
nerve  would  win.  A  man  of  quick  perceptions  and  intense 
nervous  force  adequate  to  understanding  his  chances,  when  they 
come  thus,  requires  a  strong,  continuous  nervous  stimulant  and 
sedative,  to  keep  him  in  the  necessary  condition,  enabling  him 
to  hold  on  until  the  final  victory  is  achieved.  Fortunately  for 
this  man  he  acquired  the  power  of  consuming  a  large  amount 
of  the  "weed"  with  little  apparent  injury  to  his  organism,  be- 
fore the  emergency  arose,  requiring  its  hero  to  be  a  constant 
and  thoroughly  seasoned  smoker,  who  could  sit  and  puff  cigar 
after  cigar,  calmly,  persistently — while  cannon  roared  about  him 
and  comrades  were  dying. 

But  years  after  the  great  crisis  was  triumphantly  passed,  the 
mstrument  thus  prepared  for  the  accomplishment  of  an  end,  fell 
a  victim  to  the  deadly  poison  steadily  imbibed,  no  less  a  sacrifice 
upon  the  altar  of  God's  Providence,  than  if  slain  on  the  field 
red  with  the  blood  of  Liberty's  sons. 

As  the  fateful  wheel  of  Destiny  revolved,  and  new  scenes 
were  to  be  enacted  requiring  a  remarshaling  of  forces,  higher 
powers,  (whether  good  or  bad  we  will  not  say),  working  upon 
him,  Henry  became  uneasy  in  a  few  months,  and  bidding  his 
Galena  friends  adieu  he  boarded  a  Mississippi  steamer  for  Rock 
Island,  one  of  the  oldest  towns  on  the  river,  where  a  Fort  was 
located  and  Government  troops  stationed.  He  remained  here 
for  a  little  time,  picking  up  a  good  thing  now  and  then  in  the 
way  of  speculation,  for  Henry  Armstrong  was  a  money-making 
man  whether  he  would  or  no,  everything  he  touched  turned  to 
gold,  his  fellow  towns-men  said;  but  though  successful,  it  bene- 
fitted him  little  in  the  real  enjoyment  of  life.  Henry  felt  the 
need,  as  the  days  went  by,  more  and  more,  of  a  good  wife;  but 
he  came  across  no  one  who  suited  him,  and  feared  he  should 
become  a  dissatisfied,  crusty  old  bachelor.  He  knew  he  was 
getting  soured  as  well  as  old,  for  he  fairly  despised  the  women 
who  "set  their  caps"  for  him  because  he  had  money, and  the  men 
who  toadied  to  him  for  the  same  reason.  He  was  thoroughly 
tired  of  civilization  and  what  people  call  society,  with  its  shame 
and  pretences. 

About  this  time  a  great  wave  of  excitement  came  surging 
over  the  country.  Gold  had  been  discovered  on  the  Pacific 
slope,  and  the  "California  fever"  was  raging.  Thousands 
mortgaged   their   homes    for   the   means  to  make  the  venture 


ViS  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

and  started  for  the  gold-fields,  expecting  to  bring  back 
bushels  at  least,  of  nuggets  as  large  of  their  fists  or  their 
heads;  but  as  a  rule,  they  never  returned  at  all.  Many 
seemed  to  forget  mortgaged  homes,  wives  and  children  when 
once  away  — "  out  of  sight,  was  out  of  mind  "  with  them. 
Families  and  homes  deserted  for  a  myth,  becoming  estranged 
by  absence,  forming  new  ties,  even  when  success  crowned  their 
efforts,  leaving  those  behind  to  take  care  of  themselves  as  they 
could  with  perhaps  an  occasional  remittance  from  the  land  of 
gold.  Some  few  returned,  bringing  fabulous  wealth;  but  these 
were  the  exception,  and  were  ever  after  known  in  distinction 
from  those  who  only  w^;?/  as  "  returned  Calijorniansy 

When  the  incoming  wave  struck  Rock  Island,  Henry  Arm- 
strong was  just  in  the  mood  to  grasp  this  excitement  as  a  drown- 
ing man  the  floating  straw,  and  with  others,  organized  an  ex- 
pedition going  by  the  overland  route  to  the  Pacific  coast. 

The  journey  proved  tedious,  and  Henry  experienced  full 
enough  of  adventure  to  drive  away  any  past  trouble  by  present 
trepidation,  before  he  reached  the  golden  gate,  the  land  of  the 
setting  sun.  Adventure  which  colored  his  whole  after  life 
even  more  than  his  disappointment  with  Lucille,  causmg  him 
to  change  his  name  and  launching  him  upon  a  sea  of  trouble. 

The  trip  made  by  Henry's  party  was  one  of  the  ^ery  first, 
even  before  "  the  great  path-finder,"  General  Fremont,  had  ex- 
plored the  route  and  discovered  one  of  the  true  passes  through 
the  Rocky  Mountains — the  discoverer  of  new  political  high- 
ways as  well,  over  which  enslaved  millions  eventually  traveled 
to  freedom,  a  man  whom  this  nation  has  forgotten  to  honor, 
but  destined  to  a  place  in  history  beside,  not  below,  that  of  the 
revered  Lincoln,  who,  following  this  opened  way,  finally,  when 
the  crisis  of  war  pressed  hard,  gave  to  the  colored  race  of 
America,  Emancipation.  Since  that  time  several  passes  have 
been  found  through  the  "  Rockies,"  but  in  the  beginning 
men  would  start  for  the  south-western  portion  of  the  United 
States  where  California  Is  situated,  from  any  point  where 
they  happened  to  reside,  and  struggle  past  every  obsta- 
cle, across  arid  plains  and  trackless  wastes,  over  mountains, 
rivers,  lakes,  until  they  reached  their  destination.  If  hap- 
pily in  this  they  succeeded.  Impeded  by  hostile  Indians, 
broad  rivers,  unbridged  and  unfordable,  the  hot  "  simoons  "  of 
the  Desert,  the  cold  "  blizzards  "  of  the  plains,  the  "  cyclones  " 
of  the  prairies,  and  the  terrible  snow  storms  of  the  famous 
"  Rockies,"  saying  nothing  of  minor  discomforts   and  dangers 


WHO  WERE   TO  BLAME.  159 

encountered  by  these  early  gold-seekers,  what  wonder  that 
many  perished  by  the  way? 

The  expedition  to  which  Henry  belonged  started  rather  too 
late  in  the  fall,  but  they  found  no  special  difficulty  until  arriving 
at  one  of  the  high  mountain  passes,  which  they  essayed  to  cross 
on  foot,  foolishly  leaving  their  mules  below  by  the  advice  of 
their  guide,  who  proved  inexperienced  and  incompetent. 
A  heavy  storm  overtook  them,  they  lost  their  way,  and 
at  last  became  entangled  in  a  wild  labyrinth  of  snow-capped 
peaks  and  treacherous  canyons  from  which  it  was  impossible  to 
extricate  themselves.  They  wandered  about  in  the  snow  and 
ice  and  blinding  storm,  hoping,  but  striving  in  vain  to  find  the 
trail,  until  their  rations  gave  out  and  they  were  upon  the  verge 
of  starvation,  in  real  danger  of  perishing  with  cold  and  hunger, 
with  neither  ammunition  or  strength  sufficient  for  hunting  game 
in  their  weak  and  bewildered  condition^scarcely  to  defend 
themselves,  if  attacked  by  Indians  or  wild  animals. 

After  floundering  about  in  the  deep  snow  for  several  days, 
the  storm  not  abating,  until  completely  exhausted  from  hard- 
ship and  want  of  food,  their  last  morsel  eaten  twenty-four  hours 
before,  they  gathered  around  the  few  burning  sticks  which 
they  had  managed  to  bring  from  the  steep,  rocky,  ledges, 
and  counciled  as  to  w^hat  should  be  done  in  this  crisis. 
It  was  plain  that  food  must  be  provided,  or  a  horrible  death 
confronted  them  all.  There  seemed  no  alternative,  and  it  was 
decided  that  they  should  draw  lots  to  settle  who  of  their  num- 
ber must  be  sacrificed  to  save  his  comrades  from  starvation; 
who  suffer  death  to  save  his  fellows. 

At  the  first  drawing  the  lot  fell  upon  a  genial,  dark-haired, 
sad-eyed  man,  who  had  become  a  general  favorite.  No  one 
knew  his  history,  or  where  he  came  from,  but  all  had  a  suspicion 
some  mystery  attached  to  him.  When  the  drawing  w^as  an- 
nounced not  a  dry  eye  was  among  that  group  of  i^esperate  men, 
for  this  man  was  endeared  to  every  one. 

Without  dissent  all  refused  to  consummate  the  terrible  trag- 
edy, hoping  against  hope  that  relief  would  come-in  some  other 
way. 

The  man  himself  regarded  his  fate  with  the  utmost  indif- 
ference, even  courted  death,  insisting  he  was  *' Entirely  satisfied 
to  go,  that  he  had  lived  too  long  already,  that  life  held  nothing 
dear  for  him.  If  he  could  serve  his  fellows  by  giving  up  his 
body  they  were  welcome  to  it."  Another  day's  delay,  but  the 
more  willing  he,  the  more  loth  his  comrades  that  he  should   be 


160  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

sacrificed — if  we  except  one  man — and,  strangely  enough,  this 
was  the  proverbially  kind-hearted  Henry  Armstrong. 

Why  this  exception?  Simply  because  Henry  had  made  a 
discovery  in  regard  to  the  man,  one  w^hich  concerned  his  own 
life  at  a  vital  point,  and  which  in  his  present  condition  induced 
by  starvation,  had  the  effect  of  rousing  his  natural  latent  jeal- 
ousy to  the  pitch  of  an  insane  frenzy. 

The  day  after  the  drawing  by  lot,  during  the  interval  of  de- 
laying and  hoping,  Henry  had  accidentally  picked  up  a  picture 
of  Lucille,  and  also  a  slip  of  paper  falling  from  inside  the  well 
worn  morocco  cover,  on  which  were  the  words  in  the  doomed 
man's  hand  writing,  "Oh!  how  dearly  I  love  her!" 

Henry  Armstrong  was  a  man  in  whom  his  fellows  were 
apt  to  confide,  and  before  the  fatal  finding  of  that  tell-tale 
picture,  the  man,  Wm.  Smith  by  name,  after  the  drawing,  while 
waiting  for  his  doom  of  which  he  seemed  sure  in  his  own  mind 
from  the  first,  had  prepared  a  hastily  written  letter,  including 
his  last  will  and  bequests,  which  he  intrusted  to  Henry  without 
explanation,  it  being  sealed  and  directed  to  Silas  Smith,  Free- 
lawn  P.  O,,  111. 

Henry  placed  the  letter  away  not  noticing  the  superscrip- 
tion, in  fact  he  had  no  curiosity  in  regard  to  this  man's  private 
affairs,  but  it  was  the  regret  of  his  whole  after  life,  that  he 
had  not  known  the  contents  of  that  epistle  at  the  time;  soon, 
under  the  fierce  pressure  of  hunger,  he  forgot  the  matter  alto- 
gether. 

The  man  also  entrusted  the  fact  to  Henr}^  that  a  childless 
old  uncle  who  had  resided  in  Australia,  dying  recently,  had 
made  this  only  nephew  his  heir,  with  the  proviso  that  he  should 
bear  his  name,  and  as  neither  had  any  ties  or  relatives  to  be  in- 
jured by  the  arrangement,  he  intended  upon  arrival  in  San 
Francisco,  to  have  his  name  legally  changed  to  that  of  Gerald 
A.  Johnson,  and  proceding  at  once  to  Australia,  take  possession 
of  his  legacy. 

"But,"  said  Smith  sadly,  "That  will  be  of  no  account  now, 
I  feel  my  time  has  come,  and  as  a  special  favor  to  me,  I  ask 
you  Mr.  Armstrong,  to  take  the  name,  if  you  can  do  so  with- 
out wronging  any  one,  and  with  it  the  property;  if  you  have 
no  need  of  it  use  it  in  benefitting  others." 

And  in  spite  of  Henry's  remonstrance  he  insisted,  and  to 
pacify  and  humor  his  caprice,  Henry  finally  promised  to  do  as 
Smith  desired,  should  death  overtake  him  before  the  end  of  their 


WHO   WERE   rO  BLAME.  161 

jcurncy,  caring  nothing  for  the  property,  for  he  had  already  a 
fortune,  but  really  wishing  to  lose  his  identity  and  separate  en- 
tirely from  his  past  life. 

The  change  of  name  to  Gerald  A.  Johnson  involving  the 
Australian  property,  was  a  secret  known  only  to  VVm.  Smith 
and  Henry  Armstrong;  their  mountain  comrades  understanding 
that  for  some  mysterious  reason,  the  man  had  requested  in  the 
event  of  his  demise  before  reaching  their  destination,  that  Henry 
should  assume  his  name  of  Smith,  and  with  it  his  effects. 

Had  Henry  considered  the  matter  as  of  much  importance  at 
the  time,  the  idea  "What's  in  a  name?"  would  most  likely  have 
been  suggested,  but  long  afterwards  he  realized  the  responsi- 
bility he  had  assumed  in  consenting  to  take  another  man's  name 
and  property — dead,  under  such  peculiar  circumstances;  when 
it  was  impossible  to  undo  the  error,  however  embarrassing, 
even  serious  the  consequences. 

Almost  immediately  when  these  matters  had  been  arranged 
between  the  two  men,  Henry  had  the  misfortune  of  finding  the 
picture  before  alluded  to;  at  sight  of  which  his  first  and  only 
thought  wasy^j'  that  the  deadly  lot  had  fallen,  //  fall  it  ?nust^ 
upon  one  whom  he  believed  the  husband  of  his  lost  Lucille,  and 
whose  "removal"  might  restore  her  once  more  to  his  arms,  and 
wickedly  he  brooded  over  this  sinful  suggestion  until  finally 
circumstances  having  given  him  the  opportunity  of  putting  his 
dark  thought  into  execution,  he  did  not  hesitate  to  avail  himself 
of  what  seemed  to  his  distorted  conceptions  a  "Providence" — so 
easily  can  men  believe  their  desires  right. 

The  catastrophe  had  been  postponed  for  two  days,  no  suste- 
nance was  received  during  that  time  except  such  as  could  be  de- 
rived from  frozen  snow. 

At  last,  with  the  fever  of  starvation  upon  them,  with  parched 
tongues,  dry  skins,  insane  staring  eyes,  the  glassy  balls  fairly 
starting  from  their  sunken  sockets,  these  men  driven  to  such 
dreadful  straights,  several  of  their  number  half  stupified  in  the 
snow,  sinking  surely  down  to  death,  the  others  knowing  full 
well  that  soon  their  condition  would  be  the  same,  held  a  final 
council,  hastily  ordering  another  drawing  of  lots,  including 
every  man. 

And  now  to  Henry's  diabolically  jealous  insanity  came  his 
"Providence."  It  was  easy  for  him  to  whom  had  been  entrust- 
ed the  preparations  for  the  drawing,  to  decide  that  the  fatal 
slip  of  paper  should  be  blood-marked,  and  to  arrange  the  posi- 


162  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

tion  in  which  the  men  were  to  stand;  in  the  confusion  and  dis- 
tress no  one  noticed  (if  we  leave  out  a  dark  fellow  with  snakey, 
evil  eyes,  and  Henry  was  not  sure  that  even  he  understood  the 
ruse,  or  saw  what  followed,  only  there  was  a  peculiar  look  in 
those  eyes,  certainly,)  that  Henry  Armstrong  placed  himself 
at  the  right  hand  of  the  brown-eyed,  genial  man  upon  whom 
the  lot  had  previously  fallen,  and  that  in  making  the  drawing, 
the  first  man  who  reached  his  hand  from  the  circle  in  which 
they  stood,  bringing  forth  the  little  slip  of  clean,  white  paper 
from  the  old  fur  cap,  stood  at  Smith's  left  side,  each  following 
from  left  to  right,  with  the  same  result,  ivhite  paper  everyone^ 
until  it  was  Henry's  turn,  and  after  him  the  doomed  man. 

No  one  noticed  or  gave  any  attention  to  all  this  unless  pos- 
sibly the  man  before  alluded  to,  or  if  they  did  all  kept  silence 
as  did  he,  only  too  glad  of  their  own  escape,  for  sometimes  men 
lose  all  natural  feeling,  becoming  veritable  beasts,  and  they  were 
now  ravenous  as  wolves. 

Henry  in  his  younger  days  as  a  clever  pastime,  had  prac- 
ticed some  sleight  of  hand  tricks,  and  now  when  his  temptation 
was  before  him,  listened  to  the  Devil's  own  suggestion,  retaining 
in  his  hand  the  bloody  slip  until  his  turn  came  for  drawing, 
when  he  took  from  the  cap  the  two  white  slips  remaining,  leav- 
ing behind  the  blood  stained  one  for  his  comrade  following  him, 
who  could  only  be  the  fated  Wm.  Smith.  Of  course  the  draw- 
ing was  finished  with  the  same  result  as  before  and  all  were 
awe-struck  by  the  wonderful  "Providence,"  none  suspecting 
Henry,  knowing  the  friendship  between  the  two,  for  those  who 
are  seemingly  our  nearest  and  dearest,  sometimes  betray  us. 

And  the  man  Wm.  Smith,  whom  all  loved,  with  the  dry 
joke  "That  it  must  be  Providential,,  certainly  for  them,  his  being 
in  better  condition  than  the  others,"  cheerfully  prepared  to  meet 
his  fate. 

Finally,  w^hen  all  preliminaries  were  finished,  just  as  the  set- 
ting sun  threw  its  lurid  light  across  the  dreary  waste  of  snow, 
the  deadly  shot  was  fired,  each  man  pointing  a  gun  that  no  one 
might  know  the  real  executioner,  and  the  brave  hero  passed 
away  without  com.plaint. 

Ere  the  pall  of  midnight  fell  upon  them,  the  ravening  hun- 
ger of  each  was  appeased,  the  horrible  debris  cleared  away, 
buried  under  the  deep  snow  out  of  sight  of  the  heart-sick  sur- 
vivors, and  all  lay  in  the  stupor  which  comes  alike  to  the  proud- 
est  man   no  less   than  the  lowest  animal   after  engorgement. 


IV//0  IVERE   TO  BLAME.  163 

For  thus  are  we,  when  dire  necessity  comes  upon  us,  beasts  of 
prey  every  one;  each  creature  devouring  his  fellow,  if  not 
bodily,  oft  times  crushmg  the  life  out  no  less  unmercifully  as 
selfishness  dictates. 

During  the  night  another  heavy  fall  of  snow  covered  for- 
ever from  view  all  traces  of  what  had  passed,  and  when  the 
morning  sun  broke  over  glittering  peak  and  deep  gorged  can- 
yon, changing  the  late  scene  of  bloody  horror  and  savage  car- 
nival into  a  pure,  white,  diamond-sparkling  fairy-land,  each  tall, 
slender,  ice-bound  tree  along  the  rocky  ledges  of  this  retreat, 
standing  sentinel  over  the  sleeping  men  resting  under  snowy 
winding-sheets  below,  were  not  more  silent  and  passive,  than 
were  they  every  one. 

In  that  sleep,  like  unto  death,  all  must  have  perished  but  for 
the  timely  arrival  of  a  party  bound  for  the  same  gold-fields, 
better  equipped  and  guided  than  were  our  unfortunates. 

Henry  Armstrong,  now  known  as  Wm.  Smith,  to  his  com- 
panions old  and  new,  bitterly  with  the  others  bemoaned  their 
haste  in  quenching  the  pangs  of  starvation  at  the  expense  of 
their  dead  fellow  traveler.  No  longer  hungry,  they  soon  for- 
got their  sufferings,  and  were  horrified  by  the  crime  perpetrated 
at  the  instigation  of  self-preservation.  To  Henry  especially, 
when  he  had  recovered  from  the  insanity  of  starvation,  did  his 
wicked  jealousy  and  its  result  fill  him  with  agonizing  remorse. 

Each  man  had  taken  an  oath  coupled  with  a  bloody  penalty 
swearing  to  lock  forever  in  his  breast  the  secret  of  that  night 
spent  high  up  in  the  ''Rockies,"  and  it  was  years  after,  before  it 
became  known  that  the  Gerald  A.  Johnson  who  was  constantly 
getting  into  such  strange  dilemmas,  was  the  Henry  Armstrong 
who  had  that  night  assumed  the  name  of  Wm.  Smith,  and  that 
he  had  by  agreement  with  him  dropped  the  name  of  Smith, 
changing  to,4;hat  of  Johnson,  upon  his  arrival  in  San  Francisco. 

The  further  mystery  regarding  their  dead  comrade  which 
had  come  only  to  Henry's  knowledge,  he  concealed  safely  in  his 
own  heart,  at  least  for  a  time. 

Though  finding  the  picture  of  Lucille  with  the  words 
written,  ''Oh I  how  dearly  I  loved  her!"  in  the  hand-writing 
of  the  dead  man,  had  filled  him  with  jealousy  and  wrath,  he 
secreted  and  placed  this  relic  carefully  away  with  the  letter 
which  was  to  be  forwarded  to  Silas  Smith  at  Freelawn,  still 
thinking  that  Wm.  Smith  had  been  the  husband  of  Lucille,  the 
same  whom  he  had  seen  leaning  over  her  on  the  night  which 


164  THE  STALWARTS;  OR. 

turned  his  own  fate.  To  be  sure  he  never  mentioned  a  wife,  or 
left  any  thing  to  be  sent  his  family.  Evidently  had  he  pos- 
sessed wife  or  child,  they  must  have  been  estranged — all  was  in- 
volved in  mystery  which  doubtless  could  be  solved  by  the  letter 
in  his  possession. 

Comparing  notes  and  information  with  the  new-comers,  the 
unfortunate  travelers  who  had  so  nearly  met  their  death,  found 
themselves  not  far  from  the  regular  trail,  but  bewildered  by  the 
blinding  sleet,  they  had  missed  their  landmarks  from  not  wait- 
ing quietly  beside  some  one  of  the  scored  trees  or  blasted  rocks 
which  marked  the  way,  until  the  storm  subsided  and  they  could 
safely  proceed. 

When  overtaken  and  rescued,  the  whole  party  were  ex- 
hausted, freezing,  sinking  into  the  stupor  of  death;  but  by  care- 
ful management,  were  soon  restored,  and  reached  their  destina- 
tion without  further  unusual  incident. 

Henry  remained  in  San  Francisco  for  several  years  known 
only  as  Gerald  A.  Johnson.  After  a  time  the  rumor  went  back 
to  his  friends  in  Rock  Island  and  the  east,  that  he  had  been  lost 
in  the  perilous  trip  across  the  Rocky  Mountains,  just  how  or 
where  was  not  definitely  stated.  As  Cronksey  continued  look- 
ing after  his  Bentonville  affairs,  providing  for  the  Uncle's  old 
mother  and  her  neice  who  was  next  of  kin  after  Henry,  the 
property  reverting  to  her  at  their  death,  and  whom  Cronksey 
had  taken  the  precaution  to  make  his  wife,  upon  receiving  an 
epistle  from  the  supposed  dead  7nan  instructing  his  agent  to  use 
the  property  exactly  as  though  it  belonged  solely  to  himself; 
asking  no  questions,  making  no  inquiries,  as  for  reasons  of  his 
own,  Henry  informed  him,  he  wished  to  remain  perpetually  in- 
cognito and  as  though  dead,  under  the  name  of  Gerald  A.  John- 
son, adding  that  he  should  probably  soon  leave  the  country 
never  to  return. 

This  was  certainly  a  satisfactory  arrangement  so  far  as 
Cronksey  was  concerned,  who  had  all  along  been  using  the 
property  as  though  it  were  his  own^  under  an  unlimited  Power 
of  Attorney  given  by  Henry  before  his  departure  for  the  west; 
and  Cronksey  had  also  been  appropriating  so  much  of  the  pro- 
ceeds of  the  estate  to  furthering  his  private  ambitions,  he  quite 
feared  to  face  an  accounting  of  his  agency. 

His  marriage  with  the  neice,  the  rumored  death  of  Henry 
Armstrong,  and  afterwards  the  letter  from  him  referred  to — the 
death  being  corroborated  in  the  minds  of  his  neighbors-  by  the 
developments  of  time — all  conduced  to  end  his  anxiety. 


IVHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  165 

Henry  having  no  other  relatives,  his  mother  dying  soon  after 
he  left  Barrytow^n,  no  one  troubled  themselves  further  about  the 
settlement  of  his  estate;  as  for  himself,  he  cared  not  one  whit 
hov^  Cronksey  disposed  of  the  difficult  problem,  if  only  his  se- 
cret was  safe;  for  he  had  already  accumulated  more  wealth 
since  coming  west  than  could  be  comfortably  handled. 


166  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

CRONKSEY    AND    SPIDELER. 

Upon  arrival  in  San  Francisco,  Henry  had  assumed  the 
name  agreed  upon,  and  in  due  time,  as  Gerald  A.  Johnson,  taken 
measures  to  have  the  will  of  his  Australian  namesake  proved 
and  himself  identified  as  the  person  intended  in  the  document, 
coming  into  possession  through  a  properly  appointed  agent  of 
the  property  which  doubled  his  former  riches,  and  besides  had 
made  a  large  fortune  since  arriving  in  California  and  was  now 
a  millionaire;  but  still  more  dissatisfied,  unhappy  and  conscience 
stricken  than  ever  before. 

The  scenes  of  that  terrible  night  in  the  "  Rockies "  con- 
tinued to  haunt  him  without  mercy;  in  every  breeze  he  fancied 
he  could  hear  the  whispered  question,  "  Where  is  thy  brother  :^ 
Where  hast  thou  laid  him?"  And  at  night  the  pure  eyed  stars 
of  Heaven  looked  down  upon  him  with  accusing,  fiery  glances 
that  seemed  to  burn  into  his  soul,  that  fnan's  name. 

Few  that  had  known  Henry  Armstrong,  the  innocent  boy 
cherishing  his  first  young  love,  would  recognize  him  now;  his 
very  countenance  was  changed  and  marred,  and  seamed,  by  the 
internal  conflicts  which  had  racked  him  since  that  night,  until 
he^  at  least,  imagined  the  mark  of  Cain  who  slew  his  brother 
Abel,  was  branded  in  his  forehead  to  be  read  of  all  men ;  one 
of  the  most  miserable  of  miserables  was  the  Hon.  Gerald  A. 
Johnson,  the  millionaire. 

He  was  especially  troubled  in  regard  to  Lucille  his  old-time 
love,  for  he  had  not  only  defrauded  her  of  a  true  woman's 
dearest  possession — her  heart,  but  also  unintentionally  diverted 
from  her  a  valuable  estate.  Circumstances  conducing,  his  inclina- 
tion impelling,  he  had  opened  and  read  the  letter  entrusted  to 
him,  fully  expecting  to  find  that  the  deceased  man  had  been 
Lucille's  husband,  but  discovering  instead  that  he  was  her  Wis- 
consin lover.  Gaining  no  knowledge  of  the  year  or  place  of  their 
meeting,  Henry  still  supposed  her  the  wife  of  the  one  he  saw 
bending  over  her  that  night  of  the  fight  ac  the  claim,  and  that 
this  lover  must  have  been  an  acquaintance  of  her  maidenhood. 

In  the  unfortunate  letter  Henry  also  found  enclosed  a  will 
properly  prepared  and  witnessed,  several  years  before  his  death. 


ll-J/0   WERE   TO  BLAME.  167 

in  which  this  friend  so  devoted,  had  given  the  larger  share  of 
his  estate  to  Lucille,  making  Silas  Smith,  who  it  seemed  was  a 
distant  relative,  the  administrator;  a  small  pittance  to  go  to  Silas 
himself. 

These  bec^uests  did  not  of  course  include  the  legacy  after- 
ward left  him  in  Australia,  and  for  the  possession  of  which  he 
had  yet  at  time  of  death  to  take  the  necessary  steps,  but  which 
by  his  wish  had  devolved  upon  Henry.  The  com  plica-, 
tions  were  such  that  any  action  in  regard  to  the  letter  must 
he  secretly  done;  and,  after  attending  to  the  request  of  his 
mountain  companion  (bravely  meeting  an  untimely  end)  as  to 
changing  the  name  assumed  of  Smith  to  Johnson,  and  secur- 
ing the  Australian  inheritance,  Henry  had  carefully  in- 
tructed  a  lawyer  to  communicate  with  the  Freelawn  Post- 
master making  inquiries  for  Silas  Smth,  intending  if  he 
could  be  found,  to  send  him  the  letter,  but  the  answer  came 
back  that  Smith  had  disappeared  leaving  no  trace  behind.  For- 
tunately thought  Henry,  for  now  an  excuse  offered  and  again 
he  imagined  a  "Providence"  was  assisting  him  to  bring  about 
his  desires,  and  immediately  decided  upon  opening  the  letter, 
ascertaining  as  has  been  related  that  the  dead  man  was  not 
Lucille's  husband  at  all,  but  leaving  him  with  a  properly  execut- 
ed will  on  his  hands,  the  provisions  of  which  it  would  now  be 
almost  impossible  to  carry  out,  without  revealing  his  connection 
with  the  affair,  even  should  his  own  wicked  plot  against  the  man's 
life  not  be  disclosed.  Everything  had  been  different  from  his  ex- 
pectations, filling  him  only  with  regret  and  consternation.  He 
dared  not  make  direct  search  for  Lucille  in  the  circumstances, 
his  identity  would  almost  surely  be  discovered;  certainly  during 
the  necessary  investigations  for  proving  the  will  and  transferring 
the  property  to  her,  should  he  attempt  to  do  so;  and  since  know- 
ing her  to  be,  as  he  supposed,  still  a  wife,  he  did  not  care  to 
risk  any  denouement  by  prosecuting  further  inquiries. 

While  brooding  over  this  and  his  other  troubles  until  almost 
distracted,  Henry  received  news  requiring  that  himself  or  some 
trusted  agent  should  go  immediately  and  attend  to  the  Australian 
estate;  always  longing  for  change,  he  concluded  to  proceed 
directly  to  Bentonville,  as  secretly  as  possible,  and  after  con- 
sulting with  the  agent  who  had  managed  his  eastern  affairs,  as 
he  thought  honestly,  depart  for  a  sojourn  of  several  years  in 
Australia,  possibly  he  might  not  return  at  all. 

Henry  Armstrong  would  never  have  ventured  this  visit  to 
his  old  home,  had  not  the  trouble  in  regard  to  Lucille  and  his 


168  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

uncertainty  as  to  her  conditions  of  prosperity  or  adversity,  so 
preyed  upon  his  mind.  She  might  be  in  poverty,  actually 
suffering  for  the  comforts  to  be  derived  from  the  estate  left  her 
by  one  w^ho  had  proved  his  love  to  be  ten-fold  more  than  his, 
who  was  now  withholding  fraudulently  that  which  belonged 
to  her,  and  himself  possessed  of  more  wealth  than  one  man 
could  use  to  advantage.*  No  wonder  he  was  haunted  by  re- 
morse, and  could  neither  rest  night  or  day,  and  determined  be- 
fore leaving  the  States  to  arrange  with  Cronskey  some  plan  for 
finding  Lucille  and  transferring  to  her,  whether  married  or  single, 
a  regular  and  liberal  remittance  from  his  own  abundance,  not 
allowing  any  knowledge  of  the  donor  to  escape,  except  the  fact 
of  a  lover  dying,  and  making  this  provision  for  her  welfare. 

i\rranging  his  California  business  hastily,  and  taking  a 
steamer  round  "the  horn,"  as  from  its  peculiar  shape  the  south- 
ern extremity  of  South  America  is  called  in  sailor's  parlance, 
Henry  reached  New  York  about  six  or  seven  weeks  after  leav- 
ing San  Francisco.  Desiring  to  avoid  recognition  by  friends 
in  New  York,  he  went  without  delay  by  the  night  express  to 
Bentonville,  being  met  upon  arrival  at  the  depot  by  Cronskey 
in  his  private  carriage;  who  having  now^  a  large  practice  as  a 
lawyer,  and  amassing  considerable  property  through  his  con- 
nection with  Henry's   affairs,   was  a  man  of  much  importance. 

The  night  was  dark,  but  when  Henry  entered  the  vehicle, 
the  door  held  open  by  the  stylish  coachman,  he  noticed  the  man 
gave  a  start,  and  sudden  upward  look  into  his  face,  both  im- 
mediately suppressed.  Upon  alighting  under  the  lamp  of  the 
carriageway  at  the  door  of  the  remodeled  old  house,  which 
had  been  his  home,  Henry  also  looked  sharply  at  the  man,  and 
into  his  face  and  was  even  more  startled  than  the  other  had 
been.  In  fact  he  trembled  from  head  to  foot  and  nearly  fell, 
for  those  snakey  black  eyes  certainly  belonged  to  the  little  fel- 
low who  had  stood  uncomfortably  near  him  when  the  fatal  lot 
was  drawn  up  in'the  "Rockies"  so  many  years  ago.  Neither  of 
the  men  spoke  a  word,  and  Henry  was  glad  to  go  directly  with 
Cronskey  to  his  private  study  or  office,  and  enter  immediately 
upon  the  business  which  had  brought  them  together. 

The  more  important  matters  were  hastily  scanned,  Cronskey 
managing  to  evade  going  into  particulars  or  showing  papers. 
Soon  the  investigation,  although  cursory,  disclosed  clearly  that 
the  agent  had  become  rich,  either  from  the  practice  of  law  or 
the  stewardship  of  Henry's  affairs;  it  mattered  little  to  him  so 
that  certain  important    facts  remained    covered.       But  he   was 


iVHO  WERE   TO  BLAME.  169 

hardly  prepared  for  a  demand  upon  the  part  of  Cronskey,  that 
he  should  immediately  transfer  to  him  all  right,  title  and 
interest  in  his  Bentonville  property,  for  which  transfer  he  had 
the  papers  already  made  out  even  before  Henry's  arrival,  upon 
learning  of  the  proposed  visit;  "Just  as  a  precaution  against  any 
trouble  in  case  of  your  death^''  said  Cronskey. 

"But,"  answered  Henry,  "the  property  is  to  revert  to  the 
old  lady's  niece  at  my  demise,  I  cannot  consent,  and  will  not 
defraud  her  of  one  penny  which  rightfully  belongs  to  her  or 
any  other  woman,  if  I  can  help  it."  "Tut,  tut;  you  needn't 
worry  about  that,"  broke  in  Cronskey,  "the  niece  and  I  are  one^ 
we  were  ??iarried  soon  after  you  informed  me  of  your  death*"* 
— dryly — "it  is  probably  needless  to  tell  you,  knowing  me  to  be  a 
good  lawyer,  that  she  long  since  merged  all  her  interest  in  mine, 
and  that  I  have  the  legal  papers  to  that  effect. '  There's  nothing 
quite  so  good  as  a  paper  properly  signed  and  delivered  to  pre- 
vent difficulty.  Oh!  you  needn't  worry  about  the  niece,  there's 
another  matter  about  which  you  should  concern  yourself — a 
little  affair  which  occurred  up  in  the  Rocky  Mountains,  a  dis- 
agreeable episode,  surely — unpleasant — very  unpleasant,  and  I 
say  to  you  as  your  legal  adviser,  that  it  will  be  difficult — very 
difficult  to  dispel  from  the  mind  of  any  one  knowing  all  the 
facts,  the  suspicion  that  a  deliberate  murder  was  committed 
solely  for  gain." 

Henrv  Armstrong  was  now  shivering  from  head  to  foot, 
his  teeth  fairly  chattering  with  nervous  fear;  and  the  thought 
of  those  snakey  little  eyes  so  recently  glaring  upon  him,  was 
anything  but  soothing;  it  was  needless  to  ask  how  Cronskey 
had  received  the  information  evidently  in  his  possession.  Henry 
could  only  gasp,  "For  God's  sake,  Cronskey,  what  do  you  want  ? 
Where  are  the  papers?  I'll  sign  them,  and  then  we'll  drop  the 
subject  forever."  Partly  recovering,  "No,  not  until  I  have  asked 
you  to  help  me  rectify  a  wrong  entirely  unintentional  on  my 
part,  connected  with  that  sad  affair  about  which  you  seem  so 
well  to  know ;  the  source  of  your  knowledge  I  can  easily  guess, 
but  never  mind  that  now.  My  business  here  is  really  more  on 
account  of  a  woman  whom  I  once  loved,  than  for  any  other 
purpose.  I  care  nothing  for  property,  and  am  heartily  sick  of 
money  getting,  every  thing  I  touch  turns  to  gold  only  to  curse 
me.  Qo\.^  cannot  love  me\  gold  cannot  comfo?'t  ??iy  soul^  I 
hate  gold!     A  cold,  heartless,  glittering  tyrant  is  gold." 

"And  now,  Cronksey,  I  want  you  to  search  the  country 
over,  cost  what  it  may,  until  you  find  the  whereabouts  of  a  lady 


170  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

who  was  once  Lucille  Gascoigne,  daughter  of  Dr.  Gascoigne, 
of  Freelawn,  111.  I  cannot  do  this  without  revealing  my  ident- 
ity— and  when  you  have  found  her  remit  to  her  regularly  the 
whole  income  of  my  Galena  lead  mine,  also  the  proceeds  of  my 
stock  in  the  Com^stock  mine,  which  property  I  have  arranged 
to  transfer  to  you  to  be  held  in  trust  for  her — and  have  brought 
the  necessary  papers  with  me  for  that  purpose.  For  God's  sake, 
Cronksey,  do  not  fail  me  in  this,  do  not  betray  this  sacred  trust 
or  let  anyone  know  who  the  donor  is;  say  a  lover  dying  was 
pleased  to  make  such  provision  for  her  comfort.  Promise  ?ne^ 
Cronksey  r"*  exclaim.ed  Henry,  wrought  to  a  pitch  of  excitement 
he  could  not  control,  rising  to  his  feet  and  grasping  the  man  by 
both  hands  with  the  grip  of  a  vise — "Promise  me!  and  I'll  sign 
your  papers." 

And  Cronksey  promised^  chuckling  to  himself  as  he  thought 
how  easily  a  promise  may  be  given. 

As  the  night  was  now  advancing,  and  the  objects  of  the  in- 
terview had  been  accomplished,  except  the  signing  of  Cronk- 
sey's  papers,  he  rang  a  little  call  bell  and  instantly  there  appeared 
the  stylish  coachman,  divested  of  coat,  cape  and  hat — in  plain  busi 
ness  suit  quite  a  different  man — whom  Cronksey  introduced  as 
Mr.  Spideler,  a  Notary,  ready  to  take  his  acknowledgment  as  re- 
quired by  law.  Each  man  eyed  the  other,  and  knew  himself 
not  mistaken,  but  as  before  kept  silence,  and  Henry  signed  the 
name  of  Gerald  A.Johnson,  trembling  like  an  aspen  under  the 
penetrating  glance  fixed  upon  him  from  those  dreaded  eyes,  and 
his  Mephistopheles  affixed  the  proper  notarial  seal  bearing  the 
name  of  Augustus  J.  Spideler,  and  while  Cronksey  placed  the 
two  papers  conveying  so  much  valuable  property  to  himself 
carefully  away  in  his  safe,  securely  turning  the  lock  upon  them, 
watched  closely  by  a  large  miastiff,  evidently  one  of  the  belong- 
ings of  that  private  office,  Spideler  and  Johnson  arrayed  them- 
selves for  their  drive  to  the  depot,  for  train  time  was  near  at 
hand,  and  were  stiffly  bowed  out  by  Cronksey,  who  was  well 
pleased  that  the  very  important  business  of  the  night  had  been 
so  easily  accomplished.  And  so  intensely  satisfied  was  he  over 
the  transaction  that  for  hours  he  walked  the  floor  of  the  little 
study,  unable  to  quiet  his  scheming  brain  or  even  think  of  sleep, 
contriving  how  he  should  use  his  suddenly  acquired  wealth  in 
gaining  more. 

And  as  he  paced  backwards  and  forwards  he  would  throw 
up  his  head,  which,  by  the  way,  was  a  very  handsome  apend- 
age,  not  at  all  plebian,  chuckling  to  himself,  "  Yes,  when  I  find 


IVHO  WERE   TO  BLAME.  171 

her — when  I  find  her^  as  if  there  wasn't  plenty  of  old  sweet- 
hearts and  pretty  women  near  by.  Oh!  yes,  w^hen  I  find  her, 
to  be  sure!  "  For  Cronksey  had  not  the  slightest  intention  Lu- 
cille should  ever  receive  one  atom  of  the  proceeds  of  either  the 
lead  or  the  gold  mine.  In  fact,  he  never  gave  her  another 
thought  until  years  after  when  she  was  brought  to  his  attention 
quite  unexpectedly. 

When  Henry  Armstrong  was  seated  alone  in  Cronksey's 
comfortable  carriage  being  driven  rapidly  to  the  depot  by  Spide- 
ler,  he  began  to  think  more  quietly  and  composedly,  yes,  ration- 
ally, than  he  had  done  since  getting  sight  of  those  evil  eyes;  he 
now  seemed  to  himself  like  one  just  awakening  from  a  dreadful 
dream,  in  which  he  had  been  on  the  edge  of  a  precipice,  hang- 
ing over  a  fearful  abyss,  and  rousing  himself  a  dark  and  hea\  y 
pall  seemed  lifting  from  his  mind,  his  vision;  and  as  he  pon- 
dered, one  might  have  heard  the  words  ejaculated,  "  Buy  him,  of 
course,  the  little  devil^  every  man  has  his  price,  give  him  gold, 
stuff  him  to  the  bri7n  with  gold.  I  have  enough  and  to  spare, 
feed  the  little  imp  on  gold,  ha,  ha!  "  And  Henry  took  from 
his  pocket  a  well-filled  wallet,  and  from  his  waist  a  belt  quilted 
back  and  forth,  solid  with  gold^  then  examining  carefully  the 
size  of  a  roll  of  bills  taken  from  another  receptacle,  holding 
them  in  his  hand  he  murmured,  "  Yes,  this  will  do,  this  morsel 
of  gold  will  stop  the  brute's  mouth  for  a  time,  and  I  can  reach 
my  journey's  end  with  these  bills,  when  there'll  be  plenty  more 
of  the  trash  awaiting  me." 

They  were  now  at  the  depot,  Spideler  ready  at  the  carriage 
door;  instead  of  alighting  Henry  grasped  the  man  roughly  and 
strongly  by  the  collar,  and  thrusting  the  w^allet  and  belt  into 
his  hand,  said  hoarsely,  "  Take  that^  and  mind  nojurther  word 
must  escape  you^  you  can  have  from  me  ^iXh^x  gold  or  blood, 
which  shall  it  be?  Tour  blood  understand!  your  heart!  your 
lije!  if  you  again  betrav  me!  Do  vou  hear,  man?  Do  vou 
hear?" 

For  it  was  now  Spideler's  turn,  and  he  was  quaking  as  in  an 
ague  chill;  the  night  w^as  dark,  the  street  obscure,  no  one  near; 
he  knew  Henry  Armstrong  might  end  the  controversy  then  and 
there  if  he  liked  and  no  one  be  the  wiser  until  he  was  far  on  his 
way  and  had  made  his  escape.  But  Henry's  heart  was  not 
black  enough  to  perpetrate  such  a  crime,  unless  possessed  by  in- 
sanity or  in  self-preservation,  and  shaking  the  villain- until  his 
teeth  rattled,  throwing  the  heavy  belt  across  his  shoulder,  put- 
ting the  wallet  again  in  his  hand,  with  the  word,  "  There^  take 


172  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

that^  and  let  it  insure  that  you  keep  your  oath,  or  you'll  hear 
from  me  again  with  the  penalty,  and  a  sure  and  bloody  ven- 
geance it  shall  be,"  and  Henry  let  the  miscreant  go;  leaping 
from  the  carriage  he  boarded  the  train  just  arrived,  and  in  a  few 
moments  was  leaving  Bentonville  most  gladly  behind  him ;  ere 
morning  reaching  New  York,  going  directly  to  the  steamer 
which  sailed  for  Australia  before  noon. 

As  we  have  seen,  the  main  object  with  Henry  had  been  all 
along  to  kill  old  memories  by  excitement  and  change.  His 
journey  and  contemplated  residence  abroad  would  serve  this 
purpose  well,  and  he  determined  should  the  climate  prove  as 
represented  to  remain  for  a  long,  long  time,  for  he  knew  that 
in  the  States  he  was  liable  to  be  disturbed  at  any  moment. 

A  guilty  conscience  impelled  him  to  flee  from  any  one  who 
might  recognize  him  in  the  wealthy  gentleman,  Gerald  A.John- 
son, Esq. 

From  one  he  could  not  escape,  and  bitterly  did  he  regret 
that  Cronksey  should  know  his  secret,  but  for  this  misfortune 
there  was  no  remedy  except  such  as  gold  could  buy. 

As  the  staunch  Cunarder  steamed  down  the  Hudson,  past 
the  wonderful  city  of  New  York,  which  has  made  Manhattan 
Island  one  of  the  famous  places  of  the  world,  down  the  sound, 
past  Long  Island,  Coney  Island,  Cape  May,  Newport,  Long 
Branch  and  other  points  along  the  shore,  teeming  with  the  in- 
tense civilization  flowing  from  this  vitalized  center,  from  the 
throbbing  heart  of  the  great  city;  when  at  last  they  stood  out 
upon  the  broad  Atlantic  and  were  alone  on  the  deep,  Henry 
Armstrong  felt  a  relief  he  had  not  experienced  for  years. 

Heretofore  he  had  been  under  an  irksome  restraint  and  con- 
stant apprehenshion,  because  out  of  harmony  with  the  require- 
ments of  social  law,  failing  in  its  most  essential  idea,  namely, 
individual  identity  and  responsibility;,  what  had  seemed  a  sim- 
ple enough  matter  at  first,  entered  upon  to  humor  a  doomed 
man's  caprice,  had  step  by  step  grown  into  a  complicated  en- 
tanglement, from  which  he  had  been  powerless  to  extricate 
himself,  but  now  he  was  leaving  all  this  behind  and  1  ounding 
over  the  briny  waves  a  free  man. 

Any  one  who  has  crossed  an  ocean  knows  how  different 
from  any  other  experience  the  event  is.  Being  separated  for 
days  and  weeks  from  the  rest  of  the  world  is  of  itself  a  novelty. 
Isolated,  encircled  by  the  same  circumstances,  the  oft-time  dan- 
gers, the  common  amusements;  all  this  engendering  a  strong 
bond   of   sympathy,    developing    acquaintance,    even    life-long 


WHO  WERE   TO  BLAME.  173 

friendships,  and  never  to  be  forgotten  attachments,  during  the 
short  time  consumed  after  leaving  port  before  reaching  a  des- 
tination. 

Dear  companionships  are  sometimes  severed  and  many  a  pair 
of  lovers  evolved  from  calm  moonlight, tossing  waves  and  breezy 
decks,  have  been  rudely  roused  from  the  dearest  dream  of  their 
lives  when  the  cry,  "Land,  ho!  "  has  sounded,  and  the  craft  with 
all  on  board,  sailed  up  to  her  moorings.  In  rare  instances  the 
dreamers  have  continued  dreaming  on  until  two  lives  were 
fused  in  one;  such  was  Henry's  lot  to  outward  seeming. 

Unexpectedly,  who  should  he  encounter  the  morning  of  the 
embarkation,  but  the  same  little  friend  that  had  been  entrusted 
to  his  care  years  before,  when  they  traveled  the  length  of  the 
Erie  Canal  together;  who  but  Miss  Effie  Stebbins?  And 
again,  matured  and  improved,  Henry  found  the  young  lady  a 
pleasant  companion. 

Shocked,  she  certainly  was  by  the  changed  name,  but  he  ex- 
plained it  as  the  freak  of  a  dying  man,  an  old  friend,  and 
begged  her  to  secrecy. 

Miss  Stebbins  was  traveling  to  join  an  elder  sister  whose 
husband  being  succeesful  in  garnering  wealth  from  the  Aus- 
tralian mines,  had  sent  for  his  wife  a  year  before,  and  now  for 
her  sister. 

Henry  was  disappointed  that  his  identity  should  have  been 
so  soon  discovered,  but  could  only  make  the  best  of  what  could 
not  be  remedied  by^reating  his  young  acquaintance  with  great 
consideration. 

From  the  first  day  they  were  constantly  in  each  other's  com- 
pany, with  the  result  which  might  have  been  expected ;  one  or 
both  must  fall  in  love.  Miss  Effie,  dark-eyed,  impetuous,  but 
weak,  forthwith  did  this  very  thing,  she  being  one  of  those 
child-like  women,  never  stopping  to  reason,  but  just  loving 
every  one  good  and  kind,  surely  drawing  others  to  themselves 
in  return. 

Like  all  w^omen  of  her  class.  Miss  Eftie  was  not  very  con- 
stant or  deep  in  her  emotion;  had  fallen  in  and  out  of  love  a 
half-dozen  times  or  more  in  her  short  life,  and  so  far  no  one  had 
been  hurt,  certainly  not  she. 

Henry  estimated  the  young  lady  at  just  about  her  proper 
value,  but  he  enjoyed  her  society  because  she  was  sweet  and 
simple,  and  as  the  days  went  by  he  surprised  himself  by  enjoy- 
ing her  more  and  more. 

During  their  frequent  moonlight  strolls  about  the  decks,  for 


174  THE  Sl'AUVAKTS;  OR, 

the  weather  was  exceptionally  fine,  it  came  to  seem  exactly  the 
thing  for  him  to  take  her  hand,  small,  soft  and  pliable,  as  it  lay 
on  his  arm,  and  the  owner  never  objected  that  it  should  rest 
confidingly  in  his,  large  and  warm  and  manly. 

Some  one  says,  "  When  a  man  grasps  a  woman's  hand,  he 
holds  half  her  heart."  Miss  Efiie  vStebbins  soon  found,  not  half, 
but  all,  of  this  very  susceptible  organ  of  hers  in  the  keeping,  at 
least  for  the  time,  of  her  congenial  friend;  ere  long,  when  a 
rough  sea  would  give  the  ship  a  sudden  lurch,  Henry's  arm  sup- 
ported her  slender  waist  without  reproof. 

At  last,  as  the  wind  was  rising  one  evening  near  the  close 
of  the  voyage,  and  the  ship  began  to  roll  more  than  at  any  time 
before,  little  Effie  really  got  a  fright,  and  clung  wnth  tremblmg 
hands  to  her  protector's  arm ;  beseechingly  her  eyes  met  his, 
and  w^ith  sudden  impulse  folding  her  in  his  strong  arms,  Henry 
pressed  a  kiss  upon  the  pretty  mouth  the  first  any  woman  could 
boast  from  him  since  last  he  touched  the  lips  of  Lucille  so  long 
ago 

But  Lucille  w^as  married  now,  gone  from  him  irretrievably, 
so  thought  Henry;  and  besides  the  die  was  cast,  the  advance 
made  which  could  not  honorably  be  retracted.  The  lady  had 
responded  gladly,  w'ithout  reserve;  and  really  he  did  not  care 
to  renounce  what  he  had  done.  Lucille,  his  true  but  lost  love, 
was  beyond  his  reach,  why  should  he  turn  from  this  dear  little 
woman  even  though  he  well  knew  she  could  not  fill  his  heart 
as  Lucille  would  have  done.  "No,"  Henry  resolved,  "I  will 
accept  this  new  love  with  all  of  comfort  it  may  bring,  giving 
the  best  I  can  in  return,  and  will  take  to  my  forlorn  heart  and 
dreary  life,  an  affectionate  companion,  man's  choicest  blessing 
if  she  be  true  and  kind — a  wife." 

And  this  resolve  he  put  into  execution  soon  after  arriving 
at  the  home  of  Miss  Stebbins'  sister,  Mrs.  Ferguson,  who  re- 
sided in  New  South  Wales,  Australia. 

The  courtship  proceded  smoothly  without  untoward  inci- 
dent, and  the  preparations  for  the  nuptials  as  usual,  until  the 
day  and  the  hour  when  the  consummation  was  approaching. 

On  that  day  Henry  arose  from  a  night  of  disturbed  dream- 
ing, to  a  morning  filled  with  strange  forebodings,  instead  of 
joyous  anticipations,  as  became  an  expectant  bridegroom ;  his 
mind  shadowed  by  sad  memories,  Lucille's  image  constantly 
before  him,  in  her  eyes  a  sad,  reproachful  look ;  until  he  was 
absolutely  sick  at  heart,  and  trembled  with  fear  and  grief. 

It  seemed  not  only  a  memory   which   haunted  him,  but  Lu- 


lFf/0   WERE   TO  BLAME.  175 

cille's  actual  presence,  and  he  could  not  dispel  the  delusion,  if 
such  it  might  be,  or  shake  off  the  feeling  for  an  instant.  Every 
moment  of  the  never-to-be-forgotten  day  w^as  Lucille  by  her 
lost  lover's  side  v^ith  utmost  endeavor  of  pathetic  attitude  and 
tender  gaze,  drawing  him  back  to  her  arms,  to  her  heart.  And 
he — held,  restrained  by  circumstance,  time,  space;  longing  to 
bridge  the  gulf  which  separated  them,  finding  it  impossible;  his 
very  soul  striving  in  agonized  impotence  to  enfold  her,  but  un- 
able,— surely  the  bridegroom's  plight  was  pitiful. 

The  bride,  her  family  and  the  guests  when  they  were  as- 
sembled, noticed  and  upbraided  poor  Henry  for  his  unnatural, 
distraught  demeanor, 

He  could  only  answer  them  that  he  was  not  well — not  well 
indeed — no  more  had  he  been  on  that  memorable  night  at  the 
claim,  when,  as  he  believed,  he  had  looked  upon  Lucille,  her 
husband  and  her  child. 

As  the  time  arrived,  and  the  to-be-wedded  pair  stood  before 
the  altar,  Henry's  indisposition  increased  until  a  deathly  pale- 
ness overspread  his  face;  suddenly  every  atom  of  color  forsook 
his  countenance,  and  as  the  words,  "I  pronounce  you  husband 
and  wife"  were  said,  with  staring  eyes  and  the  ghastly  express- 
ion of  death  upon  him,  the  new^  made  husband  fell  prostrate  to 
the  floor.  For  Lucille,  bodily,  had  to  all  appearance,  really  and 
truly,  come  between  himself  and  wife,  her  arms  outstretched  as 
though  to  clasp  him  to  her  heart,  her  eyes  wildly  beseeching, 
her  lips  moving  as  if- to  speak  in  remonstrance — what  wonder 
Henry  was  overcome! 

It  was  so  7'eal,  as  real  to  Henry  as  to  Lucille,  dreaming  that 
same  dream,  seeing  the  same  vision  that  summer  afternoon  as 
she  dozed  in  the  old  arm   chair,  in  the  room  where  Myra  died. 

After  a  little,  Henry  recovered,  "His  sickness  was  caused  by 
the  unusual  heat,"  they  said,  and    the  festivities  were  resumed. 

When  the  climax  had  passed,  Henry's  trouble  left  him,  and 
his  usual  cheerfulness  returned,  for  he  was  fully  resolved  on 
making  the  best  of  what  could  not  easily  be  undone.  They 
w^ere  married  now%  himself  and  Effie  Stebbins,  she  was  his  wife, 
he  would  be  true  and  loyal  until  the  end,  whatever  that  might 
be;  but  as  the  years  went  by,  bringing  forth  good  and  evil,  he, 
bound  with  chords  which  could  not  be  broken,  regretted  more 
and  more  that  mortal  eyes  should  lack  the  power  of  piercino- 
into  futurity. 


176  THE  STALWARTS:  OK, 


CHAPTER  XXIL 


THE    STALWARTS. 


The  war  was  long  since  over — the  Union  had  been  pre- 
served— all  the  States  remained  united,  the  broad  Mississ'ppi 
flowed  untrammeled  from  the  Minnehaha  to  the  sea,  bearing 
upon  its  bosom  the  commerce  of  the  North,  West  and  South, 
and  the  grandest,  freest  country  on  earth  stood  undivided — be- 
cause the  Stalwart  Republican  party  had,  more  than  any  other, 
fought  against  the  fatal  doctrine  of  "  State  Sovereignty  "  as  op- 
posed to  National  Unity;  against  the  doctrine  of  human  slavery, 
as  opposed  to  human  freedom ;  against  the  final  absolute  dis- 
ruption determined  upon  by  the  southern  "  Secessionists,"  when 
they  found  they  could  not  have  their  own  way,  regulate  their 
State  institutions  as  they  claimed  a  right  to  do;  though  this 
right  involved  the  cherishing  of  a  deadly  gangrene  upon  the 
body  politic,  even  insisting  in  opposition  to  the  expressed  will 
of  the  majority  of  the  whole  people. 

For  this  right  they  stubbornly  fought — aided,  abetted,  in- 
stigated., as  the  sequel  proved,  by  European  Monarchies,  aim- 
ing at  an  overthrow  of  our  loved  Republic — God's  refuge  land 
for  the  down-trodden  and  oppressed  of  all  the  earth;  Mon- 
archies whose  progeny  must,  according  to  the  Royal  mind,  be 
provided  with  necessary  Thrones.  These  arrogant  aristocracies, 
not  content  with  setting  the  grinding  heel  upon  the  neck  of 
honest  toil  in  all  the  countries  of  the  Old  World,  must  needs  en- 
deavor to  engraft  their  half  civilized  feudal  systems  upon  the 
new. 

Let  us  not  be  deceived,  for  even  to-day  are  they  nursing 
this  wish  in  their  heart  of  hearts,  striving  still  to  induce  dissen- 
sion in  our  midst;  goading  on  capital  to  impose  upon  labor, 
and  labor  to  rebel  against  organized  authority ;  emptying  cess- 
pools of  vice,  pauperism  and  crime  upon  our  land;  exiling  rank- 
est anarchy  to  our  shores,  inaugurating  the  demon  of  misrule, 
certain  to  be  followed,  as  they  well  understand,  by  the  re-action 
likely  to  result  in  an  established  Monarchy  or  Monarchies. 

Surely  does  our  Republic  need  now,  as  during  the  civil  war, 
a  stalwart  patriotism  which  shall  boldly  stand  for  American  In- 
dependence and  unity;  driving  every  invader  from  our  soil,  be 


WHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  177 

he  Minister  Plenipotentiary,  heathen  Chinee  or  exiled,  self- 
imported  agitator. 

Not  to  any  enslaved,  toil-worn  or  distressed  would  we  refuse 
shelter,  but  let  us  insist  that  all^  be  they  high  or  low,  shall  while 
they  remain  conduct  themselves  as  good  Atnerican  citizens,  or 
at  least  as  respectable,  honorable  American  residents,  and  invited 
guests,  not  as  spies,  disorganizers  and  traitors. 

The  name  of  "  Stalwart,"  which  at  first  those  staunch  Re- 
publicans gloried  in,  who  could  be  depended  upon  to  stand  by 
the  Union,  7iever  faltermg  during  the  contest  and  immediately 
following  the  civil  war;  but  which  eventually,  when  the  grand 
old  party  had  degraded  itself,  as  all  parties  too  long  in  power 
are  sure  to  do,  into  a  mere  machine  for  grinding  the  grist  from 
which  is  manufactured  the  "  pap  "  of  our  vicious  "  spoils  "  sys- 
tem wherewith  avaricious  leaders  fill  their  hungry  maws — came 
to  be  a  term  of  ridicule  and  reproach,  applying  to  those  politi- 
cians who  were  known  to  be  united  "  solid''''  for  spoils  only. 

And  at  last  it  came  to  mean  those  who,  not  content  with  a 
double  dose  of  the  "one  man  "  presidential  power  and  patron- 
age, would  fain  prolong  the  ruling  dynasty  even  to  a  third  term; 
how  much  longer,  the  Lord  and  those  magnates  across  the 
water  only  know. 

Finally  the  word  was  used  to  designate' a  paltry  "  306,"  led 
by  a  still  smaller  number  of  designing  men,  crafty  and  wicked, 
who  were  determined,  as  their  conduct  fully  proved,  to  ruin  if 
they  could  not  rule,  and  who  were  at  the  last  as  really  in  rebel- 
lion against  the  Government  (which  must  always  be  in  a  Repub- 
lic, but  the  "administration  "  installed  for  the  time  by  the  vote 
of  the  people), as  were  ever  the  southern  "Secessionists,"  though 
perhaps  not  as  honestly  and  openly,  but  secretly^  diabolically 
and  also  impelled  indu'ectly  by  the  same  foreign  Monarchies, 
backed  by  the  same  foreign  capital,  controlled  by  the  same  for- 
eign forces,  as  were  they. 

However,  the  civil  war  which  had  so  nearly  disrupted  the 
union  of  our  States  was  now  an  event  of  the  past,  and  there 
were  gathered  in  Chicago — our  new  Chicago — uprisen  from 
the  ashes  and  desolation  of  one  of  those  great  conflagrations  the 
world  sometimes  sees,  to  be  the  most  enterprising  and  progress- 
ive city  on  the  Continent,  an  assembly  of  the  best  minds  and 
most  noted  men  of  that  party  named  Republican,  which  had 
grown  out  of  those  vital  issues  to  which  we  have  alluded,  and 
which  had  agitated  the  country  into  the  crisis  of  the  war  now 
deplored  by  all. 

18 


178  THE  STALWARTS;  OK, 

A  war  seldom  equaled  in  its  atrocities  and  sufferings,  but 
settling  forever  the  slave  problem,  and  bringing  about  the 
emancipation  of  the  colored  race  in  our  boasted  free  America; 
thus,  evil  being  allowed  that  good  might  come. 

For  suffering  can  no  more  be  eliminated  from  destiny  than 
can  the  inevitable  and  indispensable  discord  from  the  finest 
musical  instrument;  life,  no  less  than  the  grandest  harp,  being 
thus  tensioned  and  attuned  in  the  tightening  grasp  of  a  Power 
beyond  control. 

These  leaders  and  representative  men  of  this  party,  to  whose 
original  stalwart  patriotism  and  unswerving  constancy  in  the 
cause  of  justice  and  human  rights  was  largely  due  the  fortunate 
termination  of  the  contest,  and  whose  influence  had  dominated 
the  country  ever  since  its  close,  were  now  assembled  to  make 
their  nomination  for  President  and  vice-President  of  the  United 
States,  to  be  submitted  in  the  Fall  elections  to  the  vote  of  the 
people. 

For  many  reasons,  the  little  clique  calling  themselves  "Stal- 
warts," which,  though  in  the  minority  as  to  numbers,  was  an  in- 
tegral unit  of  the  Republican  Party  difticult  to  displace, 
and  seeking  with  utmost  endeavor  to  dominate  the  majority, 
preferred  as  their  nominee  for  President  the  renowned  and  pop- 
ular General,  who  daring  the  "late  unpleasantness"  had  achieved 
the  high  place  of  Commander-in-Chief  of  the  armies  of  the 
North,  and  to  whom  the  General  of  the  southern  forces  had  at 
the  close  yielded  up  his  arms. 

This  man  who  had  become  the  most  successful  hero  of 
modern  times,  was  none  other  than  the  inveterate  smoker,  whose 
acquaintance  Henry  had  acquired,  and  whose  friendship  he  had 
gained  years  before  in  the  lead  mines  of  Galena.  To  the  re- 
markable, steady  persistency  of  this  man  in  command,  was  due, 
in  great  measure,  the  final  victory  of  the  North. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  conflict,  when  the  South,  after 
many  threats,  had  actually  fired  the  first  gun,  opening  upon 
Sumpter,  men  all  over  the  North  made  foolish  bets  that  the  war 
would  not  last  three  months;  but  the  fight  continued  with  una- 
bated fury,  years  instead  of  months. 

The  North  all  this  time  underrating  the  indomitable, 
passionate,  fiery  spirit  of  the  South,  and  the  willful  determina- 
tion to  have  what  they  believed  to  be  their  rights.  But  when 
this  stolid  General,  who  could  neither  be  frightened  or  bought, 
and  who  had  never  been  vanquished,  but  quietly  puffed  his  cigar 
until  victory  perched  upon    his  banner,  the  "smoking  General," 


WHO  WERE   TO  BLAME.  179 

as  he  had  come  to  be  called,  got  a  good  ready  and  sat  down  be- 
fore Richmond,  their  last  strong-hold,  his  clear,  grey  eyes  upon 
that  somewhat  distant  town,  prepared  for  an  all  summer's 
smoke,  the  South  —  Generals,  army,  people,  concluded  they 
might  as  well  succumb  first  as  last,  for  they  knew  the  "smoking 
General"  was  sure  to  march  into  their  capital,  sooner  or  later — 
and  he  did. 

The  enthusiasm  at  the  North  over  the  result  had  been  bound- 
less, and  the  treatment  of  his  disarmed  foe  by  the  victorious 
General  such  that  even  the  South  acknowledged  him  worthy 
to  be  their  conquerer. 

At  the  first  presidential  election  after  the  close  of  the  war, 
this  General,  well  nigh  deified  in  the  minds  of  the  grateful 
people,  was  elected  President  of  the  country  he  had  served  so 
well.  And  yet  again,  when  his  time  of  office  had  expired,  was 
he  tendered  the  highest    place  in  the  gift  of  his  fellow  citizens. 

The  two  terms  of  his  presidency  had  proved  so  satisfactory, 
his  administration  being  wise  and  just,  settling  disjointed  fac- 
tions, and  healing  gaping  wounds,  that  the  North  and  the  South 
were  forgetting  their  animosity,  treating  each  other  again 
as  human  beings  instead  of  as  wild  beasts;  like  brethren — quar- 
reling a  little  perhaps,  but  as  brothers  quarrel,  not  as  sworn 
enemies. 

As  another  election  approached,  and  many  had  carried  their 
admiration  and  gratitude  to  the  extreme  of  hero-worship,  they 
were  determined  a  third  time  to  nominate  and  elect  the  man 
w^hom  they  felt  had  saved  the  country  in  peace  as  well  as  in 
war. 

Others,  far-seeing,  and  wisely  endeavoring  to  guard  against 
perpetuation  of  power  in  the  individual  ruler,  which  if  con- 
tinued long  enough,  must,  even  under  a  Republican  form  of 
government,  lead  to  Oligarchy — perhaps — abjtost  surely  to  a 
Monarchy ;  bitterly  opposed  the  contemplated  "third  term"  nom- 
ination of  the  General,  and  in  this  they  were  supported  by  the 
people,  ever  jealous  of  any  approach  towards  an  established 
dynasty,  as  were  our  forefathers,  who  refused  to  the  father  of 
his  country,  the. revered  Washington,  this  honor. 

The  "third  term"  movement  was  defeated,  and  a  good  man 
was  nominated  by  the  Republicans,  and  elected,  who  succeeded 
in  giving  an  administration  of  reasonable  prosperity,  entirely 
pleasing  to  the  majority.  But  these  restless  politicians, 
who  haa  for  so  long  been  recognized  as  Stalwart  leaders,  and 
had  come  to  consider  themselves  entitled  to  all  the  emoluments, 


180  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

could  see  no  opportunity  for  their  own  aggrandizement  in  a 
quiet,  temperate,  prosperous  administration  of  affairs,  in  which 
they  were  ignored.  They  must  have  strife  and  turmoil  for  their 
purposes,  also  a  hand  in  dispensing  patronage,  and  were  pos- 
sessed of  a  dissatisfaction    which  they   hesitated  not  to  express. 

Another  presidential  election  was  now  near  at  hand,  the 
prospective,  possible  and  probable  candidates  had  been  canvassed 
by  Republicans  and  Democrats,  and  both  political  parties 
were  ready  for  action  and  to  present  their  nominees  to  the  peo- 
ple for  their  suffrage. 

The  General  had,  shortly  before  the  assembling  of  this  Re- 
publican convention  we  are  considering,  traveled  round  the 
world,  his  journey  being  a  continuous  ovation,  ending  in  a  series 
of  receptions  as  he  proceded  from  city  to  city  on  his  homeward 
way  across  the  continent  from  west  to  east,  such  as  no  other 
man  uncrowned  has  received  in  modern  times.  When  his  party 
reached  Chicago,  the  enthusiasm  exceeded  all  bounds,  certainly 
in  this  last  grand  demonstration  continuing  from  days  into  weeks, 
greatness  experienced  its  reward. 

Encouraged  by  the  respect  and  admiration  evinced  for 
this  honored  General  and  popular  President,  the  Stalwarts, 
whose  record  entitled  them  as  they  deemed  to  special  consider- 
ation, determined  to  place  the  great  Commander  again  before 
the  people,  as  the  Republican  nominee,  committing  the  m.istake 
of  supposing  they  could  be  induced  to  raise  him  again  to  the 
highest  office  in  the  land,  against  their  sober  judgment. 

However,  as  an  alternate  and  dernier  resort,  Cronskey,  the 
acknowledged  leader  of  the  Stalwart  clique,  had  in  reserve, 
should  the  General  be  defeated  at  the  convention  and  fail  of  the 
nomination — one,  J.  G.  Bamboozle,  a  blatant  demagogue,  full 
of  tricks  and  sly  conceit;  who  he  believed  would  make  a  more 
willing,  and  not  unconscious  tool^  as  most  surely  would  the 
General,  if  placed  in  the  presidential  chair.  For  this  reason,  as 
he  had  an  end  of  his  own  to  gain,  Cronskey  really  preferred 
Bamboozle,  if  only  the  people  could  be  induced  to  give  him 
the  necessary  vote. 

But,  as  is  sometimes  the  case  in  this  Republican  country,  this 
political  schemer  reckoned  without  his  host;  and  the  smooth 
and  artful  Cronskey  found  when  the  names  were  presented  to 
the  convention,  even  when  backed  by  such  faithful  henchmen 
as  Silas  Smith,  who  after  long  disappearance  from  view,  had 
risen  to  be  a  power  in  the  country — a  power  as  unscrupulous  as 
his  original  character  w^ould  indicate,  and  Spideler,  not  less  use- 


lVI/0   WERE  TO  BLAME.  181 

ful  and  trusted,  whom  we  remember  to  have  met  before,  being 
fully  as  great  a  trickster  as  his  master,  with  the  help  of  their 
own  special  line  of  followers,  both  they  and  Cronskey  failed  to 
control  the  dear  people,  who  when  once  aroused  are  quick-  to 
see  through  shams,  and  they  could  not  be  induced  to  place  either 
the  honored  General  or  the  demagogue  in  nomination  for  the 
highest  place  at  disposal,  as  neither  suited  their  mood,  as  indi- 
cated by  those  who  held  the  hand  and  fingered  the  pulse  of  this 
same  dear  people. 

When  the  time  and  occasion  were  ripe,  the  contention  over 
the  nomination  being  bitter  in  the  Republican  convention  as- 
sembled within  the  immense  Exposition  building  left  standing 
near  the  shore  of  Lake  Michigan,  not  far  south  from  the  spot 
where  the  Gascoigne  and  Grieveau  families  entered  Chicago 
before  old  Fort  Dearborn  was  torn  away;  there  appeared  a  man 
born  for  just  that  tifne  and  place! 

A  man  not  then  unknown ;  and  as  he  rose  before  them,  speak- 
ing of  the  points  at  issue,  a  hush  fell  upon  the  excited  multitude 
while  they  listened  eagerly  to  his  powerful  and  melodious  voice, 
discoursing  calmly  and  wisely  of  men  and  measures  over  which 
they  were  battling. 

Rather  above  the  medium  size,  of  generous  proportions  both 
mind  and  body,  with  a  noble  head  and  fascinating  face,  a  soul 
capable  of  loving  and  of  commanding  affection  and  respect  in 
return;  a  man  of  intellect  and  power  to  bear  himself  above  his 
fellows.     A  man  of  Providence!     A  man  of  Destiny! 

As  he  stood  grandly  before  them  and  argued  earnestly  for 
his  opinion,  the  attention  of  that  vast  assembly  was  intently 
fixed;  reason  triumphed,  discord  vanished,  and  at  last  both  an- 
tagonistic factions  withdrawing  their  candidate,  agreeing  to 
unite  upon  some  other  man,  peace  entered  in  and  every  heart 
was  won. 

Little  thought  the  eloquent  orator  who  had  pleaded  for 
amity  and  brotherly  kindness  that  his  would  be  the  chosen 
name.  But  almost  instantly — by  acclamation — the  fearless  and 
winning  speaker  was  declared  the  choice  of  the  convention;  so 
true  are  the  instincts  of  the  people — and  a  name  destined  to^^ 
sound  in  echoes  round  a  world  -before  the  end  should  come  to 
him  wdio  bore  it,  was  placed  at  the  head  of  the  Republican 
Presidential  ticket. 

The  scheming  Cronksey  now  realized  that  he  was  beaten  at 
his  own  game. 


182  THE  STALWARTS;   OR. 

With  a  long-headed  treachery  he  had  worked  both  for  the 
General  and  the  demagogue,  hoping  in  his  heart  should  they 
lose  it  the  rich  morsel  of  the  Presidency  would  fall  between 
them  into  his  own  watering  mouth,  and  when  foiled,  his  wrath 
knew  no  bounds  although  carefully  concealed  under  a  placid 
exterior,  only  to  burn  as  a  raging  lire  within. 

Soon  he  bethought  him  of  a  remedy,  a  partial  revenge.  His 
old-time  patron,  the  man  whose  secret  he  held,  had  returned 
from  Australia  a  year  or  two  before,  passing  under  the  name  of 
Gerald  A.  Johnson;  residing  mostly  in  San  Francisco  and  other 
places  on  the  Pacific  coast,  keeping  well  away  from  eastern  lo- 
calities, fearing  recognition  though  much  changed  by  time  and 
a  foreign  climate. 

But  for  reasons  best  known  to  himself,  moved  by  a  lever 
which  Cronksey  well  knew  how  to  work,  Johnson,  the  million- 
aire, risking  discovery,  had  met  his  former  agent  by  appoint- 
ment in  Chicago,  attending  the  convention.  Cronksey,  surmis- 
ing that  a  necessity  might  suddenly  arise  for  the  use  of  extra 
cash  influence,  had  importuned  him  to  be  at  hand,  and  now, 
confronted  by  the  emergency,  had  immediately  indicated  to 
Johnson  a  desperate  venture,  which  he  had  without  consulting 
anyone  fully  decided  upon. 

To  appease  his  disappointment  and  secure  co-operation, 
Cronksey  was  quite  sure  the  two  factions  would  allow  him  to 
name  his  man  for  the  vice-Presidency;  he  well  knew  the  party 
could  not  afford  to  ignore  his  pleasure  especially  when  furthered 
by  an  abundance  of  money. 

With  the  vice-P resident  under  his  control,  Cronksey  was 
certain  that  Smith,  Bamboozle,  Spideler  and  himself  might 
manage  a  deep  affair  they  had  in  hand  to  defraud  and  weaken 
the  Government  quite  as  successfully  as  though  one  of  them- 
selves were  at  the  head  of  the  Administration. 

Cronksey's  plan  was,  that  Johnson,  the  man  thrown  into  his 
power  by  circumstances  so  that  he  held  him  body  and  soul,  as 
one  does  the  insect  between  the  thumb  and  finger  of  his  strong 
hand  waiting  to  crush  and  mercilessly  destroy  when  so  inclined 
— should  take  the  vice-Presidency,  and  thus  the  proper  man  be 
where,  //  needed^  he  could  be  *ised  even  against  his  ozvn  will 
ivithoiit  his  knowledge^  in  advancing  the  interests  of  these  crafty 
politicians  and  self-seekers. 

At  the  thought  of  holding  so  prominent  a  position,  almost 
sure  to  result  in  an  exposure  of  his  secret,  Johnson's  blood  curd- 
led at  his  heart.      He,  the  vice-President  of  the   United  States 


WHO   WERE   TO  BLAME.  183 

might  come  to  be  placed  on  trial  for  murder^  even  though  in- 
nocent, by  the  friends  of  the  dead  Wm.  Smith.     It  was  terrible. 

And  the  one  most  to  be  dreaded  after  Cronksey  and  Spideler, 
was  the  scoundrelly  Silas  Smith  himself,  and  then  the  General 
whom  he  had  known  years  before,  might  remember  him  and 
know  he  was  passing  under  an  assumed  name — and  query, 
"Why?" — How  could  he  hope  if  he  consented  to  the  nomination 
to  escape  incognito  through  the  campaign  and  his  term  of 
office  if  elected?  And  he  was  sure  some  dark  deviltry  lurked 
in  Cronksey's  mind  inducing  him  to  resort  to  such  an  expedient, 
for  his  henchman,  Spideler,  and  even  himself  might  also  be 
called  to  give  account  for  the  mystery  of  that  night  in  the 
"Rockies,"  might  possibly  be  accused  of  '*  compounding  felony." 

But  notwithstanding  all  Johnson's  remonstrances,  Cronksey 
remained  inexorable,  and  declared  he  could  manage  the  whole 
business  w^ithout  disaster  if  left  to  himself,  and  would  keep  Silas 
Smith  (who  now  spent  most  of  his  time  in  London)  out  of  the 
way,  and  would  prevent  any  meeting  between  Johnson  and  the 
General  if  Johnson  would  obey  orders,  getting  back  to  San 
Francisco  immediately  and  remaining  there  until  wanted  for  the 
inauguration.  Pictures  of  the  nominee  for  vice-President  would 
of  course  be  sent  over  the  country,  but  recognition  would  not 
be  likely  to  follow  from  such  work  as  is  usually  furnished  on 
such  occasions,  and  besides  Johnson  had  very  much  altered  in 
appearance. 

Finally  Johnson  yielded  to  Cronksey's  importunities,  more 
afraid  of  present  wrath  than  of  any  harm  in  the  future,  and 
against  his  own  judgment,  the  very  marrow  quaking  in  his 
bones  with  dread  and  premonitions  of  evil,  his  name  was  placed 
second  upon  the  Presidential  ticket,  which  after  the  usual  cam- 
paign manoeuvres  was  declared  the  choice  of  the  people. 

In  due  time  the  newly  elected  President  and  vice-President 
were  inaugurated  into  office  upon  the  broad  piazza  of  the  beau- 
tiful white  marble  Capitol  of  the  Nation  in  sight  of  a  vast  con- 
course of  the  so-called  self-governed  people. 

During  the  campaign  many  strange  coalitions  had  been 
form.ed,  and  antagonistic  elements  fused  in  the  struggle  of  the 
Republican  party  for  supremacy  over  the  Democratic,  but  no 
sooner  was  success  assured  than  innate  selfishness  asserted  itself, 
and  the  victors  began  a  disgraceful  contest  for  the  spoils  of  office, 
the  loaves  and  fishes  of  political  power. 

Before  the  end  was  reached  the  quarrel  between  the  two 
factions  waxed  bitter  and  fierce,  and  those  who  like  Cronksey 


184  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

had  a  special  object  in  view  scrupled  not  in  adding  fuel  to  the 
flame;  only  too  anxious  in  keeping  the  contest  raging  for  their 
own  advantage,  even  to  the  imminent  danger  of  again  involving 
the  country  in  the  misfortune  of  civil  war. 

Many  yet  believe  that  such  a  catastrophe  was  only  averted 
by  a  calamity  as  remarkable  as  dreadful;  which,  coming  upon 
them  as  a  thunderbolt  from  Heaven,  had  the  effect  of  shocking 
these  wrangling  politicians  into  a  sense  of  shame  and  remorse, 
causing  each  one  to  feel  himself  at  least  in  a  measure  responsible 
for  the  horror  of  the  climax,  although  it  became  necessary  to 
use  the  utmost  endeavor  to  fasten  the  entire  blame  upon  some- 
one else. 


WHO  WERE  TO  BLAME,  185 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 


A    GIGAXTIC    SCHEME. 


As  has  been  stated,  a  few  years  before  the  events  transpired 
last  alluded  to,  Henry,  as  Gerald  A.  Johnson,  had  returned  from 
his  long  sojourn  in  Australia  to  his  native  land,  bringing  with 
him  his  pretty  though  invalid  wife,  who  had  degenerated  into 
this  condition,  considered  by  some  people  interesting,  because 
she  lacked  force  to  be  anything  better.  Her  children  were 
abortions  for  the  same  cause.  She  was  amiable  enough,  and 
easily  controlled — vv^hy  not?  Every  desire  gratified  as  soon  as 
expressed,  suffering  but  little  pain,  not  possessed  of  an  active 
mind,  to  chafe  and  grow  restless  under  the  weight  of  an  aim- 
less, helpless  life,  seeking  only  to  while  away  the  hours  with  as 
little  exertion  as  possible.  Effie  was  fond  of  Henry  in  her  way, 
whom  she  of  course  always  addressed  as  Gerald;  and  he  re- 
garded her  as  a  feeble,  pretty  child,  to  be  cared  for  certainly, 
and  sometimes,  to  be  sure,  caressed;  but  as  for  the  satisfaction 
and  companionship  a  man  should  find  in  his  wife,  it  was  not 
there. 

How  intense  grew  the  longing  in  Henry's  heart  all  those 
years  for  his  lost  Lucille,  only  himself  ever  knew.  He  needed 
the  daily  help  of  her  purity  and  steadfastness  of  purpose,  her 
strong  integrity  of  character,  no  less  than  the  sweetness  and 
loving-kindness  of  her  presence. 

As  he  remembered  her,  rather  as  she  came  to  him,  he 
thought,  in  very  fact,  there  seemed  more  of  her  womanhood, 
both  of  body  and  spirit,  than  he  found  in  his  wife,  or  had  ever 
recognized  in  any  other. 

Alas!  was  Henry  sadly  disappointed  in  the  part  of  his  life 
most  essential  to  his  well-being,  and  the  trouble  grew  day  by 
day. 

Thus  do  men  having  their  own  way  defraud  themselves. 

Through  fear  of  some  terrible  catastrophe  happening  to 
her  husband  should  his  identity  become  known,  Eftie  guarded 
well  his  secret,  not  understanding  the  particulars,  but  still  loyal  to 
the  trust  he  had  reposed  in  her. 

Henry  had  so  changed  from  his  long  residence  abroad,  there 
was  little  probability  of  any  former  friend   even   remembering 


186  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

him;  but,  strive  as  he  would,  he  grew  more  and  more,  as  the 
years  went  by,  to  dread  the  treachery  of  the  only  other  one  in 
his  confidence;  for  Henry  well  knew  Cronksey  would  not  hesi- 
tate for  a  moment  in  sacrificing  a  comrade,  though  ever  so  true, 
or  any  servant  however  faithful,  standing  in  the  way  of  a  de- 
sired end;  and  he  was  now  the  abject  slave  of  the  man — his 
before-time  agent — their  places  transposed. 

Henry  had  often  regretted  having  returned  to  the  States  at 
all,  the  occasion  of  his  doing  so  being  the  delicate  health  of  his 
wife,  who  pined  for  her  old  home.  But  since  the  further  di- 
lemma into  which  Cronksey  had  forced  him,  as  narrated  in  the 
last  chapter,  by  insisting  that  he  should  allow  himself  to  be  nom- 
inated for  the  vice-presidency,  Henry  had  innumerable  times 
wished  he  had  remained  in  Australia,  even  at  the  risk  of  failing 
health  and  lost. life. 

Running  for  vice-president  may  not  so  surely  result  in  un- 
earthing all  a  man's  past  experience  as  entering  the  presidential 
race  is  apt  to  do,  but  Henry  felt  that  he  was  risking  a  great  deal 
for  small  gain,  especially  as  the  benefit  would  mainly  accrue  to 
another  individual. 

This  man  Cronksey,  whom  Henry  so  greatly  dreaded,  had 
grown,  as  the  years  passed  by,  to  be  a  remarkable  character,  as 
strong  as  unique,  as  unprincipled  as  strong. 

Although  priding  himself,  not  without  cause,  upon  his  an- 
tecedents and  ancestry — for  he  came  from  one  of  the  very  best 
old  York  State  families — yet  the  man  was  what  is  called  self- 
made;  that  is,  he  had  marked  out  an  independent  career  of  his 
own,  working  his  way  steadily  along  with  little  help  from  oth- 
ers. He  was,  and  had  always  been,  as  we  have  seen,  a  man  who 
would  without  doubt  help  himself  to  anything  he  wanted — 
not  hesitating,  as  was  well  known,  even  at  defrauding  his  own 
friend  of  a  man's  most  jealously-guarded  possession,  the  wife  of 
his  bosom,  the  mother  of  his  children — violating  every  princi- 
ple of  honor,  all  the  obligations  of  hospitality,  in  consummating 
his  nefarious  designs. 

From  the  beginning  of  his  prosperous  days — they  dating  so 
far  back  no  one  could  remember  when  he  had  been  impecun- 
ious, but  which  really  commenced  with  his  charge  of  Henry's 
Bentonville  estate — Cronksey  had  been  shrewd  enough  to  un- 
derstand the  importance,  to  one  who  wishes  to  get  on  in  the 
world,  of  controlling  the  people  with  whom  he  comes  in  con- 
tact, either  by  fair  means  or  foul,  and   in  one  way  and  another. 


WHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  187 

principally  by  dabbling  in  local  politics,  this  he  had  succeeded 
doing  early  in  his  career. 

By  some  influence  which  he  alone  understood  he  had  bound 
to  his  service  the  man  Spideler  whose  acquaintance  we  have 
made  in  former  chapters,  and  whose  snakey  black  eyes  had  seen 
too  77iuch^  up  in  the  "Rockies,"  and  whose  piercing  glances  had 
so  disturbed  Henry  upon  the  occasion  of  his  last  visit  to  Ben- 
tonville. 

The  absolute  devotedness  of  this  man  to  his  master's  inter- 
ests had,  from  the  first,  been  so  marked  whether  engaged  in 
good  or  in  evil  work,  as  to  call  forth  the  comparison  from  those 
who  knew  them,  of  "My  lord  and  his  little  dog."  Some  went 
so  far,  upon  closer  acquaintance,  as  to  call  Spideler  a  "  Dirty 
dog,"  "a  vile  cur"  "Just  suited  for  such  work  as  his  master  had 
plenty  of,"  they  sometimes  added  under  their  breath;  for  Cronk- 
sey  was  a  man  it  did  not  pay  his  neighbors  to  offend. 

And  others,  who  knew  to  their  sorrow  even  more  of  the 
man  Spideler  and  his  attributes,  whispered  still  lower  in  the  ear 
of  some  trusted  comrade,  "  That  dog  was  too  good  and  noble  a 
name;  that  it  should  have  been  Spider;"  for  in  wicked  machina- 
tions, net-weaving  in  dark  corners,  he  surely  was  unexcelled  by 
the  most  viperous  of  those  busy  insects  —  the  blackest,  most 
poisonous  tarantula. 

At  times,  when  intent  upon  some  special  deviltry,  he  had  a 
way  of  drawing  his  flat,  shiny  bald  head,  with  its  glistening 
little  eyes  and  circling  fringe  of  jet-black  hair — the  ears  pinched 
tightly  to  the  sides — back  into  the  shoulders,  extinguishing  the 
short,  thick  neck,  and  poising  his  chunky  body,  bending  those 
long,  thin  legs  and  wirey  arms  into  a  reaching,  waiting  atti- 
tude, restrained,  but  ready  for  the  signal  to  pounce  upon  and 
grasp  his  prey;  and  then  the  bony  hands,  Vvith  claw-like  fingei^, 
would  work  nervously,  as  though  impatient  of  delay. 

This  was  Spideler's  own  self;  but  in  presence  of  his  master 
upon  ordinary  occasions,  so  habituall  v  dominated  had  he  become, 
the  evil  face  and  twinkling  eyes  had  acquired  an  inquisitive, 
anxious  look,  impressing  one  as  though  he  said,  "  What  next, 
my  lord?"  Every  motion  of  the  impish  little,  man  w^ould  be 
alert  to  friskiness,  as  though  inwardly  fearing  some  duty  left 
undone. 

Unhappy  Spideler!  Many  an  angry  frown  and  spiteful 
curse  did  you  receive;  only  now  and  then  was  left  you  in  your 
hideous  den  a  loathsome  morsel,  requiting  faithful  service. 

But   Cronksey   himself  was   quite  another  sort  of  man,  at 


188  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

least  in  appearance.  Tall,  dignified,  and  exquisite  from  the 
crown  of  his  head  adown  to  his  very  toes:  the  high  white 
brow;  the  keen  eye%  and  penetrating  glance;  the  finely  formed 
and  knowing  nose,  always  leading  its  owner  to  the  exact  point 
scented ;  the  chiseled  mouth  with  proudly  curving  though  firm 
lips,  surmounted  by  the  imperial  mustache;  the  handsome  face, 
improved  by  the  immaculate,  flowing  white  beard  and  carelessly 
curling  gray  hair;  the  whole  personality  bespeaking  in  every 
look,  tone  and  gesture  the  man  of  distinguished  presence  and 
attributes;  always  thinking  well  of  himself;  never  deigning 
openly  to  low  villainous  deeds,  whatever  he  might  instigate  in 
others;  buc  also  indicating  a  careful,  shrewd  calculator,  and  a 
schemer  deep  and  unscrupulous. 

A  political  trickster  of  the  higher  order,  as  Cronskey  had 
long  since  become,  needing  without  doubt  some  convenient 
party  near  at  hand,  willing  to  execute  detestable  work,  which 
must  not  soil  his  own  dainty  hands — hence  Spideler,  in  all  but 
villainy,  the  contrast  of  his  master.     *     * 

After  Henry's  return  from  Australia,  Cronskey  continued 
the  charge  of  the  annuity  designed  for  Lucille,  but  which  she 
of  course  failed  to  receive;  he  also  retained  a  general  insight  of 
Henry's  extensive  business,  who  at  his  suggestion  traded  heavily 
in  stocks,  often  risking  large  sums  in  doubtful  enterprises  by  his 
advice;  Cronskey  meanwhile  keeping  his  own  money  chest 
safely  locked,  though  reaping  a  handsome  percentage  upon  his 
victim's  investments  if  ending  fortunately.  It  happened  that 
in  furtherance  of  these  business  ventures,  Henry,  Cronskey  and 
Spideler  were  frequently  together,  and  these  conferences  con- 
tinued even  after  Henry  was  nominated  for  the  vice-presidency, 
under  the  name  of  Gerald  A.  Johnson,  although  Henry  kept 
well  away  from  New  York  and  other  eastern  latitudes  where, 
if  seen,  he  might  be  known. 

Events  coming  about,  contrary  to  usual  experiences  of  life, 
that  the  General-in-Chief  of  the  victorious  northern  army  had 
been  fully  appreciated  both  as  to  honors  and  also  money,  and 
thus  amassing  a  goodly  fortune,  more  it  must  be  said  through 
the  management  of  his  friends  than  from  any  financial  aptitude 
of  his  own ;  and  being  one  of  the  "solid-moneyed-men"  the  Gen- 
eral became  to  Cronskey  a  temptation,  correlatively  ending  as 
a  victim. 

Having  no  more  need  of  money-making  than  had  Henry 
or  any  of  the  others,  or  even  Cronskey  himself,  who  all  event- 
ually became  involved  in  a  gigantic  scheme,  originating  in  the 


WHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  189 

brain  of  Cronskey,  and  helped  on — the  two  evenly  matched — 
by  the  only  trusted  counselor  Cronskey  ever  possessed,  or 
thoroughly  confided  in;  the  only  man  he  had  ever  found  who 
could  equal  himself  in  plotting  villiany;  a  man  no  less  remark- 
able in  characteristics  than  Cronskey,  and  wdiom  we  shall  show 
you  further  on,  introducing  another  old  acquaintance. 

Not  obliged  to  engage  in  any  business  for  gain,  but  solely 
as  a  vent  to  their  active,  restless  dispositions,  were  these  men 
induced  to  enter  into  a  speculation  of  which  they  knew  little, 
by  the  intriguing  Cronskey  and  his  two  trusted  emissaries,  and 
which  caused  them  all  much  distress  and  grief  before  the  end. 

Pity  such  men  could  not  be  forced  to  knit  their  own  stock- 
ings, or  saw  cord  wood  w^ith  the  Wisconsin  Norwegians,  thus 
merging  their  surplus  energy  in  a  sweet  content,  instead  of 
working  mischief  to  their  fellows. 

Even  the  General  was  all  right  and  in  the  accomplishment 
of  good,  while  he  sat  still  before  Richmond — and  smoked. 

But  Cronksey  was  a  man  w^ho  had  the  peculiar  faculty  of 
interesting  other  men  in  his  plans,  either  for  emolument  or  ag- 
grandizement, and  impelling  them  to  accede  to  his  wishes  by  the 
exercise  of  a  strong  will,  not  letting  them  know  of  his  control  in 
the  m'atter.  Spideler  became  in  time  a  most  useful  accessory, 
and  at  last  indispensible  to  his  m.aster.  Cronksey  had  but  to 
imbue  Spideler  with  the  thought  that  was  in  his  ow^n  mind,  the 
purpose  to  be  accomplished,  and  forthwith  the  evil  little  man 
talked  that  idea  incessantly — moved  Heaven  and  earth,  not  men- 
tioning Satan's  dark  abode,  in  arriving  at  the  premeditated  end. 

Besides  possessing  this  wonderful  power  over  others  with 
whom  he  came  in  contact,  or  to  w^hom  he  could  send  his  mag- 
netized medium,  Cronksey  was  a  man  who  could  brook  no  su- 
perior, and  w^iose  egotism  and  desire  to  rule  over  his  fellows- 
men  was  boundless.  Furthering  his  ow^n  preeminence,  he  was 
not  content  with  being  the  acknowleged  head  of  the  leading 
political  faction  named  "Stalwarts,"  but  was  continually  on  the 
aggressive,  creating  discord  in  his  party,  fatally  antagonizing 
the  two  branches,  and  had  conceived  the  idea  of  dominating  the 
entire  organization,  and  through  it,  the  whole  people,  even  to 
the  destruction  of  cherished  Republican  institutions,  not  sparing 
the  newly  elected  President  from  his  dictation. 

This  man  Cronksey  had  by  slow  but  sure  degrees  advanced 
up  the  political  ladder,  until  he  had  come  to  look  upon  himself 
as  being,  and  his  co-workers  joined  in  the  opinion,  as  though  he 
were  the  great  /  am^  his  will  the  '^Open  Sesame"  to  any  gate  he 


190  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

chose  to  enter.  Such  a  man  aims  at  controlhng  friend  and 
foe  ahke  in  his  own  interests;  but  soon  after  the  inauguration 
Cronksey  discovered  that  whatever  he  might  accompUsh  w^ith 
the  intimidated  Vice-President,  he  need  not  expect  to  over- 
power the  newly  elected  President,  against  his  honest  convic- 
tions. 

In  the  Vice-President  Cronksey  saw  a  man  restless  and  dis- 
satisfied, just  in  the  condition  to  crave  the  excitement  of  ambi- 
tious projects,  and  whose  long  residence  abroad  under  a  Mon- 
archical form  of  government  had  destroyed  to  a  great  extent 
his  distinctive  American  and  Republican  proclivities,  and  he 
proceeded  deftly  to  insinuate  ideas  into  his  mind,  until  at  last  he 
became  a  mere  machine  in  his  hands. 

In  the  same  way  did  he  approach  and  eventually  control  the 
honored  General  who  had  saved  the  Union,  and  scores  of 
others  who  were  to  figure  in  and  help  carry  out  the  deep  laid 
plot,  deeper  than  any  imagined,  which  his  brain  had  contrived, 
and  which  he  had  determined  to  see  through  to  its  finality,  no 
matter  what  or  who  stood  in  the  way.  For  many  years  this 
man  had  been  the  power  behind  the  figurative  throne;  he  now 
proposed  to  place  himself  and  friends  upon  a  firmer  foundation, 
and  to  this  end  had  conceived  a  scheme  intended  to  defraud  and 
weaken,  preparatory  to  revolutionizing  the  Government,  and 
w^hich  required  immense  resources  for  the  accomplishment. 

Resources  of  political  p(^vv^er  and  influence  both  American  and 
foreign,  a  controlling  monopoly  of  capital  sufficient  to  buy  up 
whole  parties  of  men  and  wealthy  corporations;  a  domination 
over  the  systems  of  mail  service  and  telegraphic  communication 
throughout  the  country,  and  also  the  Press,  for  the  length  of  time 
required  in  ripening  the  scheme  and  producing  the  desired  effect 
upon  the  popular  mind. 

It  was  at  this  point  in  his  plan,  as  Cronksey  realized  the  vast 
proportions  of  what  he  had  undertaken,  and  the  requirement  of 
capital  and  influence  necessary  for  the  successful  issue,  that  he 
bethought  him  of  Silas  Smith,  whose  acquaintance  he  had  made 
a  few  years  before  in  New  York,  where  both  had  been  engaged 
in  the  same  extensive  stock  manoeuvre,  and  in  which  Smith  had 
vanquished  Cronksey  only  by  having  unlimited  access  to  Lon- 
don capitalists.  In  fact  this  American  citizeii  had  become  more 
an  Englishman  than  an  American,  by  long  habit  of  transient 
residence  in  London,  and  had  become  thoroughly  imbued  with 
the  ideas  of  English  capital  and  English  aristocracy. 

Smith   had   continued  as  at  first  when   he   tried  to  defraud 


WI/0  WERE  TO  BLAME.  191 

Uncle  Tutty  Swanson  of  his  claim  by  deception  and  force — a 
grasping,  hard-fisted,  ugly  customer,  and  had  of  course,  gotten 
rich  off  from  better  men. 

He  had  also  naturally  enough  gravitated  into  New  York 
and  Wall  street,  and  come  to  be  one  of  the  great  men  of  that 
center  of  power  long  before  his  foreign  experience. 

From  being  at  first  only  a  speculator  in  stocks,  he  had  come 
to  own  several  American  railroads  and  nearlv  the  whole  of  the 
telegraphic  lines  throughout  the  country.  By  this  ownership 
and  other  means,  he  often  manipulated  the  news  furnished  to 
the  Associated  Presses  and  by  them  to  the  daily  papers,  and  in 
this  way  molded  public  opinion  as  he  willed,  in  the  interests  of 
any  speculation  in  which  he  was  engaged.  He  had  long  since 
ceased  to  touch  matters  not  stupendous,  and  had  become  a  king 
among  capitalists  both  American  and  foreign,  being  the  head 
and  center  of  those  vast  intrigues  which  are  sapping  the  founda- 
tions of  free  government,  drinking  the  life-blood  of  the  people, 
and  enslaving  them  slowly  but  surely  beyond  hope  of  emanci- 
pation. 

Such  men  as  Smith  and  Cronksey  and  Spideler — born  for 
evil  work  and  to  prey  upon  their  fellows — drift  into  New  York, 
this  great,  wicked  city  of  our  Continent,  and  come  to  the  sur- 
face, making  a  stir  in  Wall  street  as  naturally  as  the  devil-fish, 
leviathan  and  dragon  live  and  float  in  the  sea. 

Cronksey  was  in  the  great  pool  what  the  devil-fish  is  to  the 
ocean — surrounding  himself  in  impenetrable  mystery,  hiding 
from  view  in  the  black,  slimy  emanations  of  his  own  Satanic 
hideousness,  while  with  long  tentacled  arms  he  reaches  out  un- 
der the  darkened  waters,  drawing  in  his  prey  as  surely  and  re- 
lentlessly as  fate,  to  be  reduced  to  finest  atoms  by  concealed, 
grinding,  sharp-edged  instruments  of  torture;  for  thus  does  the 
monster  live,  placing  all  under  contribution  for  his  sustenance 
and  pleasure. 

But  Smith  was  the  Leviathan,  spreading  terror  and  dismay 
wherever  his  mighty  strength  and  huge  proportions  became  ap- 
parent. 

While  Spideler  was  the  slimy  Sea-serpent,  living  low  down 
in  the  deep  mire,  stirring  up  filth  at  every  movement. 

Cronksey  and  Spideler  had  met  Smith  in  New  York  dur- 
ing the  years  when  Henry  was  absent  in  Australia,  and  they  had 
been  interested  together  in  business  transactions  ever  since  and 
were  fast  friends. 

To  Smith  did  Cronksey  in  his  emergency  now  go  in  person, 


192  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

carefully  and  fully  unfolding  his  scheme  and  all  that  might  in 
any  contingency  be  involved — receiving  his  promise  of  help  and 
co-operation  in  any  possible  event.  Two  villains  evenly 
matched,  pulling  neck  by  neck  for  the  same  diabolical  goal. 

Only  these  iiw^o  knew  all,  not  even  was  Spideler  trusted 
with  the  entire  unfolded  plan,  his  mission  consisting  only  in 
working  out  blind  hints  as  they  were  given  him.  ^ 

Others  entered  into  the  scheme  as  a  speculation^  putting  in 
their  money  for  gain  only,  upon  representations  conveyed 
through  Spideler  that  it  was  a  good  thing,  not  dreaming  they 
were  being  drawn  into  complications  which  would  end  in  a  ter- 
rible political  tragedy. 


WHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  198 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

JULES    GRIEVEAU. WHO    WERE    TO    BLAME? 

While  the  intense  excitement  preceeding  the  Presidential 
election  to  which  we  alluded  in  Chapter  XXII,  was  at  its 
height,  among  the  frequenters  of  the  New  York  headquarters 
of  the  Republican  campaign,  Spideler,  as  he  thought  fortun- 
ately, discovered  a  most  peculiar  and  original  character  in  the 
person  of  a  little  man  impressing  the  beholder  as  of  somewhat 
larger  stature  than  he  really  was,  who,  though  shabby  and  poor 
in  appearance,  was  neatly  and  genteelly  dressed,  carrying  him- 
self always  with  dignity  and  as  a  gentleman. 

Gaunt  and  hungry  looking,  evidently  destitute,  homeless 
and  without  remunerative  employment,  he  yet  had  an  air  of  at- 
tending to  very  important  affairs.  Every  motion  indicated  a 
man  earnestly  pursuing  some  object  to  a  desired  end.  What 
that  object  or  the  consummation  might  be,  did  not  appear. 

He  seemed  to  be  engaged  in  no  legitimate  business — unless 
hanging  around  politicians  and  noted  men,  offering  advice  and 
suggestions  which  passed  unheeded,  crowding  himself  obtrusive- 
ly into  the  presence  of  the  highest,  might  be  called  business. 

Mischievously  busy  he  was  without  doubt,  as  the  sequel 
proved. 

Such  a  character  could  not  remain  very  long  in  constant  at- 
tendance upon  all  the  manoeuvres  emanating  from  the  head- 
quarters of  a  political  campaign,  without  attracting  the  attention 
of  the  prime-movers.  Soon  inquiry  was  made  from  one  and 
another,  but  no  one  could  tell  anything  about  the  man,  except 
that  he  was  industriously  distributing  cards  bearing  the  inscrip- 
tion "C.  Jules  Grieveau,  Lawyer  and  Theologian,"  strange 
combination  of  professions  surely.  He  also  claimed  to  be  a 
politician,  and  was  never  tired  of  lauding  Cronksey,  the  great 
leader,  to  the  skies,  whenever  any  one  would  listen  to  him,  and 
wanted  his  hero  to  the  front  upon  every  occasion.  He  had,  it 
seemed,  prepared  a  speech  during  the  time  preceding  the  presi- 
dential nomination  when  it  was  supposed  the  General  would  again 
be  placed  before  the  people,  based  upon  this  idea,  and  which  he 
had  altered  in  one  or  two  particulars,  suiting,  as  he  believed,  the 
change  of  programme,  and  he  now  wanted  the  managers  of  the 

13 


194  THE  S  TAL  WARTS;   OR, 

campaign  to  engage  him  on  a  salary  to  deliver  this  remodeled 
speech  from  the  "stump"  over  the  State.  But  of  course  they 
had  no  intention  of  doing  any  such  thing;  it  would  savor  too 
much  of  the  absurdity  of  preparing  the  eulogy  for  one  man 
and  then  using  the  document  in  another's  honor;  and  besides 
the  paper  w^as  almost  idiotic  in  composition.  Strangely  enough 
he  took  their  refusal  all  in  good  part,  although  it  meant  starva- 
tion for  him. 

His  good  nature  w^as  absolutely  foolish,  he  being  apparently 
unable  to  comprehend  a  snub  or  an  insult;  accepting  every  slight 
or  rebuff  with  indifference,  going  right  along  as  though  nothing 
had  happened;  no  matter  how  coldly  he  was  treated  frequent- 
ing the  Republican  headquarters  just  the  same.  Poor  fellow, 
it  was  the  only  comfortable,  decent  place  where  he  could  con- 
stantly visit  with  impunity  without  being  interfered  with. 

Had  that  selfish,  well-fed,  scheming  crowd  known  just  how 
forlorn,  hungry,  weak  and  sick  the  man  really  was,  how  shat- 
tered his  mind,  and  that  he  was  utterly  incompetent  to  provide 
for  himself,  compassion  might  have  touched  even  their  hearts, 
and  he  been  placed  out  of  harm's  way  to  himself  or  others,  and 
where  he  could  have  kind  care  and  the  treatment  proper  for 
those  in  his  condition. 

He  had  been  for  a  long  time  used  to  starvation  and  snubs 
and  insults,  and  did  not  himself  realize  how  badly  off  he  was; 
while  restlessness  kept  him  working  persistently  at  something, 
even  though  resulting  in  no  benefit  to  himself  or  others. 

Occasionally  he  would  secure  a  small  sum  of  money,  and 
upon  this  subsist,  until  the  fund  exhausted,  want  again  confront- 
ed him. 

Before  his  reasoning  powers  became  so  completely  deranged, 
he  had  through  the  leniency  of  slack  examinations  in  western 
states  at  that  early  day,  succeeded  in  gaining  admission  to  the 
bar — the  fashion  prevailing  both  in  the  legal  and  medical 
professions  of  allowing  a  man  with  slight  knowledge  a  license 
to  practice,  that  he  might  earn  an  honest  living,  as  was  said; 
he  being  expected  by  hard  experience,  both  to  himself  and 
his  patrons,  to  learn  how  afterwards. 

And  thus  it  happened  that  Jules,  after  spending  a  couple  of 
years  about  the  ofl^ce  of  his  brother-in-law,  passing  an  exam- 
ination when  two  out  of  the  three  Judges  who  constituted  the 
board  were  off  on  a  vacation — he  answering  only  two  of  the 
three  questions  asked  him,  managed  to  slip  inside  the  "bar,"  and 


lVI/0  WERE  TO  BLAME.  195 

was  forthwith  a  full-fledged  lawyer,  entitled  to  all  the  privileges 
and  immunities  of  the  profession. 

He  then  secured  desk  room  got  out  some  cards  with  good 
references  which  no  one  troubled  to  investigate,  and  being  pos- 
sessed of  a  gentlemanly,  suave  address,  soon  some  slight  items 
of  business  drifted  his  way,  mainly  the  collection  of  small  bills, 
and  following  the  usual  practice  of  older  and  more  competent 
lawyers  of  his  acquaintance,  he  never  failed  when  collections 
w^ere  made,  to  retain  the  larger  share. 

In  all  this  Jules  exhibited  a  certain  amount  of  shrewdness 
not  uncommon  with  young  men  trying  to  make  their  way  in 
the  world  unaided,  and  in  their  cases  as  in  his,  enabling  them  to 
slip  along  quite  smoothly  with  apparent  success  for  a  time,  only 
to  end  in  utter  collapse,  if  the  sequal  prove  them  lacking  in 
sound  knowledge,  hard-headed  sense,  and  integrity ;  qualities 
which  alone  can  win. 

As  for  Jules  he  had  neither  knowlege,  sense  or  stamina,  and 
disappointment  and  destitution  were  his  fore-ordained  portion. 
But  even  after  he  had  stumbled  and  fallen,  and  scrambled  up  again 
in  child-like  impotency — time  and  again — and  had  wandered 
away  from  his  original  moorings,  coming  to  the  surface  at  last 
in  the  great,  cruel  city  of  New  York,  as  a  hanger-on  of  the 
Republican  presidential  campaign,  he  still  made  use  of  his 
old  cards,  they  enabling  him  to  pick  up  now  and  then  a  des- 
perately bad  debt  for  collection — so  desperate  no  one  else  would 
touch  it. 

And  somehow,  by  hook  or  by  crook,  he  managed  to  worry 
a  little  money  out  of  every  one  he  tackled.  He'd  fasten  him- 
self on  a  man,  and  stick  like  a  leech  until  so7nething  came,  if  he 
once  started.  A  persistency  which  became  a  mania,  until  he 
believed  himself  inspired  to  the  accomplishment  of  anything 
suggested  to  his  mind  as  a  desirable  consummation. 

His  peculiarities,  before  his  mind  became  entirely  unhinged, 
rendered  him  a  passably  successful  Insurance  Agent,  and  he 
acted  for  different  companies  from  time  to  time.  Had  he  re- 
mained quietly  at  either  the  insurance  or  the  collecting  business, 
letting  everything  else  go,  he  might  have  sustained  himself 
perhaps,  even  with  his  unmistakably  weak  organization.  But 
his  diseased  and  malformed  brain  was  leading  him,  year  by  year, 
into  more  and  more  erratic  courses,  and  unfitting  him  for  all 
usefulness.  Finally  he  attended  the  "Moody  meetings,"  and 
became  in  his  own  estimation  a  "theologian,"  and  that  ended  it. 

All  this  time  even  at  the  last,  there  in   New   York,  during 


196  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

the  fateful  summer  of  doom,  little  did  those  with  whom  he  came 
in  contact  dream  that  in  the  strange,  intense,  erratic  but  good 
natured  and  apparently  harmless  man,  there  were  elements  of 
discord  and  insane  ideas  evolving,  eventually  to  culminate  in  a 
deed  as  terrible  and  sudden  as  the  rupture  of  a  volcano,  and  which 
should  startle  the  world  with  the  horror  of  its  unreasonableness, 
causing  in  its  legitimate  results,  that  sooner  or  later,  the  fair 
goddess  of  Liberty  must  reel  and  totter,  quivering  in  every  atom 
upon  her  pedestal,  until  only  the  strong  hands  of  stern  Truth 
and  evenly  balanced  Justice,  could  restore  her  equipoise  and  firm 
stability  complete  as  before. 

Silas  Smith,  who,  as  we  have  seen,  spent  most  of  the  time  in 
London  across  the  water,  came  in  one  day  and  Jules  handed  him 
his  card,  as  he  habitually  gave  them  to  everyone  he  met. 
Smith,  glancing  at  the  remarkable  announcement,  "  Lawyer 
and  Theologian,"  for  it  would  attract  the  attention  of  the  busi- 
est man,  and  then  pondering  a  moment,  looking  again  at  the 
name,  C.  Jules  Grieveau,  abruptly  inquired,  "  Are  you  the  son 
of  Eben  Grieveau,  of  Freelav/n,  111?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  that  was  my  father's  name,"  answered  Jules. 

Neither  of  the  men  said  anything  further,  Smith  not  notic- 
ing him  again  in  any  way,  indeed  he  never  saw  him,  until  the 
day  when  the  grievous  fate  of  poor  Jules  Grieveau  was  consum- 
mated in  Washington;  but  Jules,  following  an  insane  predilec- 
tion for  the  adoration  of  supposed  greatness,  always  after  spoke  of 
Smith  as  "  My  friend  Silas  Smith,  Esq.";  only  that  subsequent 
events  proved  the  assumption  extremely  pitiful,  it  mxust  have 
savored  of  the  ludicrous. 

When  his  question  was  answered  Smith  knew  very  well 
who  the  peculiar  man  was,  and  also  his  sad  history  or  the  be- 
ginning of  it,  and  why  he  was  so  forlorn  and  erratic;  Jules,  of 
course,  having  no  remembrance  of  Silas  Smith. 

For  several  days  at  intervals  of  leisure.  Smith  cogitated  over 
the  eccentric,  cranky  man,  not  to  say  insane,  Jules  had  come  to 
be,  and  the  possible  use  he  might  be  put  to  with  proper  manipu- 
lation. 

Cronksey  had  unfolded  to  Smith  all  that  was  In  his  scheme, 
every  contingency  liable  to  arise;  and  Smith  had  finally  men- 
tioned Jules  Grieveau  to  him  during  one  of  their  confidential 
conversations,  with  the  suggestion  that  Spideler  get  him  down  to 
Washington  when  the  time  should  come,  as  he  was  evidently  just 
the  man  they'd  need  there  in  a  certain  emergency ;  Cronksey 


lVI/0   WERE   TO  BLAME.  197 

afterwards  assented,  giving  the  hint  to  Spideler,  who  made  short 
delay  in  acting  upon  it. 

Thus  did  Smith,  the  rascally  plotter,  concoct  his  revenge  for 
an  old  time  grudge,  at  the  same  time  with  characteristic  long- 
headedness,  providing  for  his  English  friends  whose  capital 
was  to  aid  him  partial  shelter,  should  their  joint  villainy  in  its 
consummation  be  exposed  to  the  light;  by  selecting  a  man  as 
the  tool  with  which  to  accomplish  the  work,  a  man  of  French 
name  and  proclivities,  and  whose  ancestors  had  surely  been  of 
the  French  Aristocracy,  nearly  allied  to  Royalty. 

While  Jules  Grieveau  had  been  hanging  around  the  Repub- 
lican headquarters  in  New  York,  Henry  Armstrong,  as  Gerald 
A.  Johnson  the  nominee  for  vice-President,  had  remained 
closely  in  San  Francisco  according  to  the  plan,  and  thus  it  hap- 
pened the  two  not  chancing  to  meet; — again  did  Fate  perform 
her  mission,  and  play  well  her  part. 

"'  Not  many  months  elapsed  before  Spideler  received  the  in- 
timation that  the  time  was  near  at  hand,  and  immediately  he 
proceeded  to  prepare  the  tool  for  a  purpose  dire  as  devilish. 

First  he  went  with  Jules  to  a  great  revival-meeting,  or,  as  it 
was  styled,  the  "  Moody  meeting,"  which  w^as  in  progress, 
where  by  well  understood  processes,  the  multitudes  who  flocked 
to  hear  the  world-wide  noted  preacher  were  worked  into  a  high 
state  of  excitement,  and  zealous  enthusiasm  was  engendered. 
Spideler  shrewdly  opining  that  the  intensely  religious  tempera- 
ment of  Jules  might  be  worked  to  good  advantage. 

Jules  had  years  before  this  attended  these  meetings  in  Chi- 
cago, and  the  talk  he  had  heard  in  his  father's  house  and  in  the 
"  Community ,"  had  been  largely  of  that  insanely  religious  type 
just  suiting  his  mental  condition,  and  upon  which  he  loved  to  feed. 

He  had  finally  become  fully  imbued  with  the  idea  of  per- 
sonal consecration,  direct  inspiration.  Divine  leadings  etc.,  and 
under  the  excitement  to  which  he  was  now  subjected,  he  came 
to  feel  that  he  could  do  anything  for  Jesus,  until,  had  he  im- 
agined any  act  or  sacrifice  was  required  of  him  by  the  will  of 
Deity,  that  act  would  have  been  accomplished,  that  sacrifice 
made,  even  to  the  slaying  of  his  dearest  friend,  even  as  Abra- 
ham was  commanded  according  to  tradition  that  he  should  slay 
his  son,  Isaac. 

Spideler,  too,  became  suddenly  religious,  talking  often  with 
Jules  in  the  strain  of  this  peculiar  phase  of  his  faith,  causing  his 
mind  to  dwell  frequently  upon  it,  until  at  last  if  he  had  not  been 
absolutely  insane  before,  he  surely  was  so  now. 


198  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

As  one  of  the  links  in  the  chain  which  the  wily  Spideler 
was  busily  riveting  upon  Jules,  he  one  day  introduced  him  to  a 
fair  widow,  whom  he  chanced  (perhaps)  to  come  across  at  the 
meeting;  she  being  also  a  devotee  of  the  Moody  type,  immedi- 
ately gained  an  unbounded  influence  over  him. 

Soon  after  this  new  coalition  was  formed,  Spideler  went 
with  Jules  down  to  Washington.  Jules  going  ostensibly  to 
look  after  some  insurance  business  which  vSpideler  had  kindly 
thrown  in  his  way — and  Spideler  himself  going — well,  for  an- 
other purpose. 


PVIIO  WERE  TO  BLAME,  199 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

"I    PREFER    murder!" 

During  the  few  months  intervening,  when  these  intriguers 
were  bu^y  permeating  the  body-politic  with  the  vile  leaven  of 
their  own  wickedness,  until  all  was  in  a  wrathful  ferment  bod- 
ing only  ill,  and  in  readiness  for  the  hour  of  doom,  their  needed 
tool  was  bemg  prepared  by  Spideler.  While  the  manipulation  of 
Jules  was  in  its  incipient  stage,  the  Presidential  election  had 
taken  place,  the  inauguration  quietly  occurred,  and  the  political 
machme  commenced  its  work,  installing  one  here,  lopping  off  a 
head  there,  satisfying  some,  rendering  others  desperate  with 
chagrin  and  disappointment. 

At  last,  in  the  course  of  events,  the  scheme  of  Cronksey  and 
his  gang  threatened  to  go  awry. 

In  the  new  President  they  had  encountered  a  man  who  had 
a  decided  mmd  of  his  own;  who  was  determined  to  give  the 
people  an  honest  Republican  administration — to  unearth  every 
fraud  and  political  corruption.  By  his  obstinacy  their  bubble 
was  likely  to  burst,  and  there  "was  millions  in  it"  for  American 
speculators — perhaps  American  disruption,  for  jealous  foreign 
capitalists  and  foreign  dynasties.  Something  must  be  done  to 
avert  the  catastrophe. 

Silas  Smith  and  Cronksey  conferred  together,  and  finally 
sent  down  to  Washington  their  friend  Bamboozle,  who  staid  by 
the  President's  side  constantly,  apparently  using  his  utmost  en- 
deavors and  persuasive  powers  trying  to  induce  him  to  stay  his 
proposed  investigation  of  alleged  frauds  in  the  mail  service, 
Treasury  reports,  naval  service,  etc.,  which  had  at  last  attracted 
the  attention  of   the  people. 

Dull  and  stupid  as  they  usually  are  in  regard  to  their  own 
interests,  they  were  beginning  to  inquire  into  the  "  Why?  "  of 
several  things;  they  were  insisting  upon  knowing  the  truth,  and 
the  President  was  helping  them.  The  men  who  had  perpe- 
trated these  frauds,  hoping  thereby  to  weaken  the  Government, 
stir  up  dissension,  strife  and  possible  disruption,  this  time  more 
especially  between  the  East  and  the  West,  between  capital  and 
labor,  between  honest  toil  and  wealthy  aristocracy — Cronksey, 
Smith,   Bamboozle  &   Co. — saw   that  the   new  President  was 


200  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

treading  dangerously  near  their  individual  toes,  and  were  begin- 
ning to  fear  for  the  safety  of  their  pet  corns.  At  last  there  was 
an  open  quarrel  between  these  men  and  their  followers  and  the 
new  administration — a  rebellion,  if  not  a  conspiracy,  against  the 
President  and  the  Government;  and  threats  began,  to  be  made 
against,  and  to  the  President.  The  partisan  press  controlled  by 
Smith  was  vehement  in  its  denunciations  of  the  President's 
course,  and  freely  talked  of  the  advantage  to  the  country  were 
he  only  out  of  the  way,  declaring  there  was  danger  of  another 
civil  war  should  he  persist  in  antagonizing  those  obstreperous 
"Stalwarts"  who  were  determined  to  ruin  if  they  could  not  rule. 
At  this  stage  of  the  contention  Cronksey  or  Smith,  no  one 
cared  to  say  which,  made  a  speech  from  the  rostrum,  which 
was  considered  purely  figurative  by  those  who  were  ignorant 
of  what  was  going  on,  but  by  those  who  were  inside  the 
"ring"  known  to  mean  just  what  the  words  implied — "that  the 
time  might  soon  come  when  murder  or  suicide  would  be  the 
only  choice;"  and  said  the  black-hearted  villain:  '•'■  I  prefer  7nu?'- 
derP'^  Their  friends  immediately  denied  the  words  in  the  pub- 
lic prints,  and  insisted  political  suicide,  political  murder  was 
meant;  but  it  was  too  late  to  retract;  the  mischief  intended  had 
been  wrought;  for  the  same  evening  the  impeding  President 
was  told  in  private  conference,  by  tliose  who  were  alarmed  atth6 
fatal  words — at  midnight — only  the  night  before  his  assassina- 
tion— that  he  "  must  desist ;  that  he  must  stand  back^  or  some- 
thing dreadful  would  happen^  if  he  continued  to  persist  in  his 
investigation." 

But  the  President  had  steadfastly  declared  that  he  would  "not 
desist,  but  should  proceed  at  once  in  the  course  he  had  marked 
out  for  himself,  no  matter  who  stood  in  the  way — no  matter 
who  was  hurt." 

And  this  only  a  few  hours  before  the  shot  was  fired,  insti- 
gated by  rebels  and  conspirators,  which  ended  his  career;  for 
destiny  was  upon  them  all,  and  fate  or  Providence  was  bring- 
ing them  through  these  devious  channels  and  complications  to 
the  final  event,  for  which  the  stubborn  President  and  they  all^ 
no  less  than  crazy  Jules,  was  born. 

When  this  deed,  which  Cronksey 's  friend  had  hinted  at, 
only  suggested  as  possible^  in  his  speech  from  the  rostrum, 
was  finally  decided  upon  in  his  own  mind  as  necessary,  for  the 
protection  of  himself,  and  also  those  who  stood  to  him  in  the 
relation  of  co-workers  in  political  intrigue,  and  of  clients,  as  well 
as  partners  in  speculation,  he  took  measures  secretly  for  the  ex- 


WHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  301 

ecution  of  the  threat — not  consulting-  with  any  one.  Giving  his 
faithful  Spideler  the  signal,  the  diabolical  deed  was  perpetrated 
with  what  villains  regarded  complete  success,  without  re- 
lenting. 

While  the  quarrel  between  the  two  factions  was  waxing  hot 
and  bitter,  the  President  and  his  supporters  on  one  side  and 
those  interested  in  these  great  speculations  as  they  claimed,  but 
really  frauds  and  conspiracies,  on  the  other,  from  sheer  neces- 
sity, Spideler  had  contrived  to  saturate  the  mind  of  Jules  wifh 
the  idea,  advanced  in  the  partisan  prints — well  paid  for  this 
work — that  a  civil  war  would  be  the  result  unless  the  Cronksey 
faction  were  victorious.  Jules  was  also  a  devourer  of  newspa- 
pers, believing  implicitly  all  the  lies  he  read.  Spideler  also 
talked  continually  in  his  presence  of  the  benefit  to  the  country 
"  If  the  President  were  out  of  the  way,  the  disturbance  would 
cease,  and  all  would  be  well.  The  Vice  President  was  a  con- 
servative, sensible  man,  and  would  make  a  betterPresident  than 
the  one  who  was  giving  so  much  trouble.  (Yes,  trouble  to 
thieves  and  villains!)  If  some  good  providence,  some  sickness 
or  an  accident  should  '  remove '  him,  everything  would  settle 
down,  and  there'd  be  no  more  talk  of  civil  war."  And  besides, 
"Our  friends,"  said  Spideler — for  he  had  continued  to  make 
poor  foolish  Jules  feel  that  he  was  one  of  them — "will  come 
into  power,  and  I'll  see  that  you  get  a  consulate,  or  something 
better,  and  then  you  can  marry  the  widow." 

And  thus  was  the  poison  injected,  which  in  his  crazy  brain 
should  breed  unnatural  imaginations  ending  in  agony  and  death. 

Little  by  little,  day  by  day,  did  Spideler  keep  at  his  work, 
sowing  the  seeds  and  forcing  the  growth  to  the  final  terrible 
harvest,  "Delays  are  dangerous,  now  is  the  accepted  time;""Do- 
ing  evil  that  good  may  come;"  "Abraham  was  commanded  to 
slay  Isaac  at  the  pleasure  of  the  Lord  God."  These  and  other  like 
canting  phrases  were  poured  from  the  mouth  of  Spideler,  and 
filled  the  mind  of  Jules,  until  dwelling  upon  these  ideas  and  the 
danger  of  civil  war, — and  he  had  not  forgotten  the  sufferings  of 
the  struggle  which  had  so  recently  taken  place  between  the 
North  and  the  South — combining  with  his  desire  to  possess  the 
widow,  she,  all  the  time  encouraging  the  delusion  as  to  the 
consulate  and  their  marriage;  he  reasoning  upon  these  things  in 
a  warped  and  crooked  fashion,  over  zealous  and  devout,  until 
finally  the  unbounded  egotism  of  insanity  over-mastering  all 
else;  at  last  the  deluded  man    came  to  believe  himself  inspired, 


202  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

called  of  God  to  perpetrate  as  atrocious  a  deed  as  ever  emanated 
from  a  sick  brain,  or  was  executed  by  a  maniac's  hand. 

From  the  moment  it  took  hold  of  him,  that  he  was  called  of 
God  to  remove  the  President,  it  was  to  his  mind  "the  Deity  and 
me,"  who  would  set  the  affairs  of  the  Nation  right. 

Surely,  surely,  poor  Jules  Grieveau  was  irresponsibly  insane, 
but  in  view  of  all  the  facts  and  subsequent  outcome  of  events, 
resulting  in  the  final  acquittal  or  escape  of  every  one  engaged 
in.  these  "great  frauds,"  some  clear  and  powerful  intelligence 
must  have  plaiined  the  whole  scheine — must  have  been  to 
blame. 


WHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  203 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

AUNT     DEBBY'S    kitchen    IN    WASHINGTON;    AND THE    CAT. 

On  one  of  the  narrow,  old-fashioned,  stone-paved  streets,  bor- 
dered by  diagonally  laid  brick  sidewalk,  in  Washington  near  the 
Capitol — a  neat,  quiet  neighborhood — stood  behind  a  row  of 
Linden-trees,  a  small  brick  house.  Very  modest  and  unpreten- 
tious was  the  snug  home  of  Aunt  Debby  and  Uncle  Tut,  who 
had  followed  the  family  of  Gen.  John  A.  Gascoigne  to  Wash- 
ington. 

Aunt  Debby  had  softened  down  with  advancing  years,  and 
having  no  children  of  her  own,  the  natural  yearning  tenderness 
of  womanhood  in  her  old  heart  which  she  had  all  her  life  tried 
to  crush  out,  exhibited  itself  to  the  extent  that  she  allowed  her 
domicile  to  become  the  rendezvous  of  all  the  children  near  and 
far,  and  had  even  come  to  tolerate  a  cat,  their  old  "  Tommy  " 
being  the  pride  and  delight  of  Aunt  Debby  as  well  as  Uncle 
Tut. 

They  were  never  tired  of  showing  off  the  tricks  that  won- 
derful cat  could  do.  He  would  jump  through  Uncle  Tut's  en- 
circled arms;  stand  upon  his  hind  legs,  with  paws  crossed  de- 
murely before  him  and  mew  politely  for  his  food ;  he'd  open  a 
latched  door  and  come  in,  pushing  it  shut  behind  him,  and 
quietly  seat  himself  in  his  own  cushioned  chair;  he'd  walk  leis- 
urely around  the  cage  of  the  canary  as  it  sat  upon  the  floor  with 
open  door,  not  offering  to  touch  lively  little  Dick.  You  might 
go  away  and  leave  them  alone  if  you  liked  without  danger  to 
the  bird. 

Aunt  Debby  declared  "  that  cat  had  sense,"  and  certainly  he 
proved  there  must  be  a  good  foundation  somewhere  behind  those 
yellow  eyes,  for  the  satisfactory  results  of  the  thorough  educa- 
tion and  cultivation  of  manners  bestowed  upon  him  by  Uncle 
Tut. 

Not  the  least  of  his  accomplishments  and  the  one  in  which 
Aunt  Debby  took  special  delight,  was  the  ease  and  grace  with 
which  he  sat  at  table  upon  a  chair  and  ate  from  his  own  plate, 
lapping  milk  from  the  saucer  without  soiling  himself  or  the 
cloth.  A  noble  specimen  was  Tommy,  his  immense  propor- 
tions covered  by  the  finest  fur,  pure  white,  except  a  black  spot 


204  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

at  the  tip  of  his  tail,  four  jet  black  paws  and  a  dark  ring  around 
his  neck — "  his  neck  tie,"  Uncle  Tut  said,  and  then  "  Tommy  " 
had  such  a  ])eautiful  head,  and  large  intelligent  eyes — for  a  cat. 

Besides  the  feline  and  the  canary^  Aunt  Debby's  clean 
kitchen  just  swarmed  with  youngsters  both  black  and  white. 
It  would  have  done  you  good  to  see  her  laying  the  newly  baked, 
warm,  sweet  cookies  in  the  little  aprons  held  to  receive  them, 
as  she  deftly  lifted  them  one  by  one  from  the  hot  pan  with  the 
old-fashioned  glistening  steel  knife. 

The  children  could  smell  Aunt  Debby's  cookies  and  dough- 
nuts for  blocks  away,  and  her  cream  custard  pies  "  well,"  as 
Uncle  Tut  would  say,  "don't  talk,"  (he'd  got  so  he  could  put 
two  words  together  without  stammering,  when  he  kept  cool ) ;  but 
the  greatest  treat  was  one  of  Aunt  Debby's  immense  saleratus 
biscuits,  (not  baking  powder)  hot  and  spread  with  butter  and 
the  real  white  clover  honey  or  genuine  maple  syrup,  laid  on 
thick;  "oh!  but  they  were  good,"  the  children  said.  Crazy 
Leonard  too,  who  you  will  remember  had  insisted  upon  attach- 
ing himself  to  General  Gascoigne's  party  when  they  started 
from  Chicago,  having  been  brought  by  them  to  Washington, 
forming  ever  since  a  part  of  their  household,  was,  of  course, 
now  a  frequent  visitor  in  Aunt  Debby's  kitchen,  and  came  in 
for  a  share  of  "  goodies  "  with  the  children;  so  gentle  and  piti- 
ful a  creature  could  not  but  appeal  to  the  kind-hearted  woman's 
sympathies. 

Leonard's  friends  had  succeeded  in  toning  him  down  some- 
what as  to  dress,  and  his  appearance  was  less  grotesque  than 
formerly,  but  he  possessed  an  inordinate  desire  for  decorating 
Uncle  Tut's  cat,  and  seemed  to  have  transferred  this  propensity 
from  himself  to  the  patient  animal,  allowing  Leonard  to  maul 
him  about  at  pleasure,  who,  whenever  he  came  was  sure  to 
leave  a  memento  in  the  shape  of  some  gewgaw  fastened  around 
Tommy's  neck  or  on  his  tail.  There  was  real  danger  the  poor 
cat  would  be  strangled,  perhaps  hang  himself  som.e  day  by  the 
appendages  attached  to  him.  When  Leonard  was  about  Aunt 
Debby  watched  sharply,  and  if  caught  at  any  of  his  pranks,  she 
gave  him  a  dose  of  her  tongue,  if  nothing  worse. 

"  There  now,  you  Leonard,  let  that  cat  alone  I  tell  you, 
you'll  be  the  death  of  that  ar  cat." 

"  No  I  won't.  Aunt  Debby,  I  ain't  gwine  ter  hurt  your  cat, 
be  I,  Tommy?" 

"  Leonard's  gwine  to  be  a  good  boy,  Leonard  ain't  lub  struck 
no  more,  hi!  hi!  hi!     Go  bye.  Aunt  Deb;"  and  away  he  would 


WHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  205 

shuffle  as  fast  as  his  crazy  old  legs  could  carry  him.  But  after 
he  was  gone  Aunt  Debby  would  find  the  invariable  trinket  tied 
to  the  cat  every  time,  and  he  would  manage  to  accomplish  the 
feat  so  slyly  she  would  not  see  him  either. 

It  happened  that  one  day  Aunt  Debby  found  tied  securely 
around  the  cat's  neck  a  small  bundle  of  paper,  well  written 
over,  signed  very  plainly  with  a  name  she  too  well  knew. 
Showing  it  to  her  husband,  as  a  dutiful  wife  should,  consulting 
about  any  puzzling  occurence,  this  little  scrap  of  paper  proved 
to  be  the  missing  clue  necessary  for  unveiling  a  hidden  mystery 
and  in  a  measure  righting  a  grievous  wrong. 

Thus  did  crazy  Leonard,  no  less  than  the  dumb  brute,  fulfil 
each  their  mission. 


2C6  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

IF    ONLY    SOMETHING    WOULD    HAPPEN. 

The  family  of  General  Gascoigne  had  resided  in  Washing- 
ton since  the  war,  with  the  exception  of  the  summers  spent 
usually  on  Uncle  Tut's  farm  out  in  Illinois,  or  sometimes  with 
Gertrude  in  Wisconsin. 

Mistress  Julia  had  improved  her  opportunities,  developed 
her  natural  charms,  and  used  her  shrewd  Yankee  sense  with 
such  purpose  as  to  become  an  acknowleged  leader  in  the  gay 
society  of  the  Capital. 

She  had  now  a  family  of  children, and  daughters  almost  old 
enough  to  make  their  debut,  but  this  did  not  hinder  her  from 
being  a  very  fascinating  woman,  as  fond  of  a  quiet  flirtation  as 
ever,  though  not  carrying  matters  to  the  extreme  of  disaster, 
as  she  had  done  in  the  inexperience  of  her  early  career. 

However,  she  had  lately  come  to  think  the  new  Vice-Pres- 
ident the  most  charming  gentleman  she  had  ever  met.  His  ex- 
tended sojourn  in  Australia  was  somewhat  unique  even  for  a 
traveled  man,  and  gave  him  great  eclat;  and  the  Vice-President 
although  a  recent  widower,  was  quite  the  rage  among  the  ladies 
of  the  capital,  both  married  and  single.  His  wife,  who  had  al- 
ways been  a  delicate  invalid,  had  died  during  the  early  part  of 
the  political  campaign  preceding  his  inauguration;  but  what 
did  it  matter  that  his  bereavement  could  scarcely  be  so  soon 
assuaged,  or  that  the  ladies  who  admired  him  were  many  of 
them  married?  Not  a  whit — these  circumstances  are  little 
thought  of  in  Washington,  and  flirtations  could  be,  for  these 
reasons,  only  the  more  sympathetically  indulged  in  and  nothing 
serious  expected  on  either  side.  Nothwithstanding  the  recent 
demise  of  the  wife,  there  had  already  been  talk  of  a  union  be- 
tween the  Vice-President  and  the  daughter  of  a  Queen,  a 
rumor  started,  to  be  sure,  for  political  reasons  and  as  a  sounder 
for  the  popular  feeling,  but  which  was  so  unequivocally  frowned 
upon,  as  to  be  immediately  checked.  This  rumor  was  speedily 
followed  by  a  desperate  flirtation  with  the  daughter  of  a  high 
oflicial,  carried  on  as  a  blind,  to  allay  suspicion,  for  this  foreign 
alliance  was  realty  a  part  of  the  plan  of  Smith  and  Cronksey 
for  establishing  a  monarchy  in  our  midst.     But  an  episode  oc- 


WHO   WERE   TO  BLAME.  207 

curred  just  here  which  drove  forever  from  the  Vice-President's 
mind  all  thought  of  a  union  with  any  woman  but  the  one  his 
heart  craved,  and  she,  too,  was  to  be  disappointed.  Strangely 
enough,  and  much  to  her  chagrin.  Mistress  Julia  had  found 
herself  more  deeply  in  love  with  the  handsome  Vice-President 
than  she  had  intended;  at  last  her  heart  was  really  captured,  all 
there  was  of  it. 

Their  acquaintance  had  not  progressed  very  far,  only  a  few 
weeks  of  intimacy  such  as  society  people  indulge  in,  when  Lu- 
cille returned  from  a  visit  to  Gertrude  who  lived  on  her  farm 
beside  one  of  Wisconsin's  beautiful  lakes,  and  where  she  had 
been  spending  nearly  a  year,  with  pleasure  to  both. 

On  a  sultry  day  in  early  summer,  before  congress  had  ad- 
journed, or  the  fashionables  closed  their  doors  for  a  flight  to 
northern  climes,  the  Vice-President  called  to  take  Mistress  Julia 
Gascoigne  for  a  ride.  As  he  sat  waiting  in  the  cool  parlor,  a 
lady  passed  through  the  hall,  instantly  their  eyes  met — a  moment 
more  and  Henry  had  clasped  Lucille  in  his  arms,  drawing  her 
into  the  room ;  nothing  could  hold  back  the  frantic  man  from 
the  possession  of  his  life-long  darling.  Now  that  his  eyes 
again  beheld  her,  he  seemed  as  though  he  never  intended  to  let 
her  go.  "Oh!  Lucille,  Lucille,  why  did  you  marry  that  man?" 
he  cried. 

"Marry?     Me  marry?     Why  I  have  not  married." 

"God  in  Heaven,"  exclaimed  Henry,  "is  this  true?  Can  it 
be  true?"     *     *     * 

The  servant  came  forward  announcing  that  Mistress  Gas- 
coigne was  ready  for  the  drive.     Scarcely  was  discovery  averted. 

"Say  I  am  at  her  service,"  responded  the  Vice-President; 
then  turning  again  to  Lucille,  "I  beg  you  to  secrecy;  say  to  no 
one  that  you  ever  knew  me.  I  will  see  you  soon  and  explain 
all.     God  bless  you  m.y  own  love,  adieu,"  and  he  was  gone. 

Once  again,  after  years  of  patient  waiting,  had  Lucille  been 
clasped  in  the  arms  of  her  loved  one,  looked  in  his  eyes,  heard 
his  voice  in  endearing  tones  and  words,  felt  his  warm  breath, 
his  passionate  kiss — and  then  he  was  gone!  Heart-breaking 
mystery,  when  will  it  ever  end?     When  and  how? 

For  days,  weeks,  months,  Lucille  waited  silently,  sadly,  with 
heart  of  lead,  but  Henry  did  not  come  as  he  had  said.  What 
could  it  mean? 

Only  that  the  man  was  entangled  in -meshes  from  which  he 
could  not  break  loose,  and  now  found  himself  in  the  vice-Hke 
grip    of  Fate,  whose   hold   loosens  not,  though  woman's  soul 


208  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

grieves  in  agony;  though  drops,  blood-red,  are  pressed  from  the 
heart  of  the  strong  man,  longing  with  passionate  love  to  enfold 
her. 

The  Vice-President  ended  his  flirtation  w^ith  Mistress  Julia 
Gascoigne  that  very  day;  w^hy  so  abruptly,  she  never  dreamed, 
but  w^as  sorely  disappointed  and  brooded  over  the  pleasure  she 
had  taken  in  his  society,  and  the  strange,  sudden  withdrav^^al 
from  her  presence,  until  a  real  trouble  wranlked  in  her  heart. 
He,  preoccupied  with  his  own  difl^iculiies,  scarcely  thought  of 
her  again — such  is  life. 

Henry  now  began  planning  in  earnest  to  the  end  of  reach- 
ing Lucille,  but  the  more  he  revolved  the  situation  in  his  mind 
the  more  hopeless  it  seemed. 

First  his  unfortunate  change  of  name,  and  the  cir- 
cumstances which  led  to  it,  confronted  him;  and  then  the 
political  complication  in  which  he  was  now  involved; — every 
thing  combining  to  thwart  his  desires.  The  trouble  he  was  in 
was  terrible,  turn  which  way  he  would,  black,  still,  despair  con- 
fronted him.  If  only  something  would  happen  to  bre:ak  the 
deathly,  suffocating  calm;  if  only  some  change  would  come; 
anything  would  be  better  than  the  dreadful  monotony  of  the 
long,  silent,  desolation  and  misery  of  their  estranged  and  parted 
lives.     And  soon,  very  soon,  the  longed  for  sweet  occurred. 

One  day  Lucille  sat  listlessly  thinking  of  Henry,  when  sud- 
denly a  din,  a  roar,  as  of  a  surging,  angry,  infuriated  mob;  and 
the  cry, "The  President  is  shot!  The  President  is  shot!"  resound- 
ing through  the  air,  flying  from  mouth  to  mouth,  startles, 
shocks,  stuns  her.  The  commotion  for  a  time  is  fearful — in  the 
streets,  in  the  houses^  everywhere — each  inquiring  of  every 
other,  no  one  giving  any  satisfactory  answer. 

Before  night  Uucle  Tut,  who  was  a  member  of  the  Metro- 
politan police  force,  had  heard  a  description  of  the  would  be  as- 
sassin; for  the  president  was  not  yet  dead;  might,  it  was  said, 
perhaps  recover;  and  who,  after  firing  the  shot,  had  exhorted 
the  by-standers  not  to  "Get  excited,"  saying,  "it's  all  right,  the 
Deity  and  me's  fixed  it."  And  had  then  quietly  given  himself 
up  as  a  prisoner.  Uncle  Tut  had  also  heard  his  name,  and, 
w^onder  of  wonders,  it  was  Jules  Grieveau,  Myra's  strange  boy, 
who  had  drifted  away,  and  from  whom  they  had  not  heard  for 
years  past. 

Rumor  said  the  prisoner  was  crazy.  "  Quite  li-likely," 
stammered  Uncle  Tut,  remembering  Myra's  condition  before 
the  boy's  birth,  and  some  of  the  peculiar  things  in  his  life. 


WHO   WERE   'JV  BLAME.  ^  209 

When  these  rumors  had  been  corroborated,  and  there  was  no 
longer  any  doubt  that  "  the  assassin^'''  as  he  was  called,  was 
really  Jules  Grieveau,  and  that  he  was  crazy;  gently  as  possi- 
ble were  the  sad  facts  disclosed  to  Lucille. 

Surely  now  w^as  her  cup  full,  yea,  running  over;  for  once 
the  woman  who  had  endured  so  much  without  flinching  was  al- 
most beside  herself.  If  she  could  only  get  to  him,  do  some- 
thing to  comfort  him.  "Poor  boy!  poor  boy!"  she  moaned. 
But  it  was  impossible,  strong  bars  were  between  them;  not  for 
days,  perhaps  weeks,  could  she  see  him;  not  safely  now  could 
even  their  relationship  be  known,  or  that  Gen.  John  A.  Gas- 
coign  e  was  his  mother's  brother. 

And  during  those  months  while  the  martyred  President  lay 
suffering,  the  throes  of  his  agony  pulsating  from  the  sick-bed 
througn  the  hearts  of  myriads  of  watchers  over  all  the  land, 
even  across  the  ocean  and  throughout  the  world,  Lucille,  Ger- 
trude and  all  who  loved  the  crazy  boy  for  his  mother's  sake  and 
because  of  his  pitiful  condition  learned  to  be  grateful  for  the 
strong  bars,  the  prison  walls,  which  were  his  protection  from 
the  unreasoning  wrath  of  the  grief-maddened  populace. 

And  while  the  doctors  probed  and  tortured  the  president, 
while  the  people  wept  and  gnashed  their  teeth  in  the  rage  of 
sheer  distress,  while  the  crazy  tool  confined  in  his  prison-cell, 
sometimes  crouched  despondently,  oftener  glorying  in  the  deed 
he  had  perpetrated,  as  his  moods  changed;  while  the  political 
schemers  composedly  looked  on  saying  nothing;  Lucille,  Ger- 
trude and  the  others,  in  dire  apprehension,  with  quivering 
hearts  and  whitening  hair  and  bated  breath,  held  still  and  waited 
for  the  end  to  come. 

And  Henry,  Gerald  A.  Johnson,  the  vice-President — what 
of  him? 

The  blow  had  come  at  last  unexpectedly,  as  great  calamities 
always  reach  us,  even  while  we  look  for  them. 

Henry  had  hoped  against  reason  since  meeting  Lucille,  that 
some  way  might  be  found  out  of  the  difficulty,  the  political 
quarrel. 

Whatever  his  feeling  of  bitterness  might  formerly  have  been, 
his  heart  had  softened  since  that  day  towards  every  living  crea- 
ture, he  no  longer  wished  any  one  harm,  or  cared  for  ambitious 
projects;  his  only  conscious  desire  to  finish  his  public  career 
speedily  as  possible,  finding  happiness  for  the  remainder  of  his 
days  anywhere  with  Lucille.  Just  how  this  was  to  come  about 
he  had  not  thought. 

14' 


210  ^  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

But  now  he  feared  he  could  never  meet  her  more,  for  he  too 
had  learned  who  the  unfortunate  man  was  whom  Spideler  had 
so  long  been  preparing  for  the  eme7'gency^  when  "Murder 
should  be  preferred  to  the  political  suicide  of  those  engaged  in 
the  great  scheme,"  and  that  the  reputed  assassin  being  the  son 
of  Eben  and  Myra  Grieveau  was  Lucille's  nephew.  How  could 
he  now  ever  hope  they  should  be  more  to  each  other  than  they 
had  been? 

The  vice-President,  whom  a  certain  contingency  would 
make  the  accidental  President,  seen  visiting  the  family  of  the 
assassin?     Never! 

Henry,  as  Gerald  A.  Johnson,  had  now  come  to  his  bitterest 
portion,  and  was  getting  his  full  share.  There  was  no  escaping 
the  difficulties  pressing  him  down,  for  suspicion  of  high  officials 
was  in  the  heart  of  the  people,  vengeance  was  in  the  air  and 
shrieked  in  every  breeze;  other  bullets  might  come  whizzing 
past;  and  the  elegant  vice-President,  who  so  well  knew  how  to 
enjoy  the  good  things  of  life,  had  no  choice  but  to  shut  himself 
in  his  own  house  a  self -immolated  prisoner,  waiting  for  what- 
ever might  transpire;  and  he  the  more  willingly  submitted  to 
this  indignity  and  seclusion  for  should  he  venture  to  walk 
abroad  or  ride,  he  might  meet  Lucille  and  if  thus  encountered, 
what  could  he  now  say  to  her?  How  could  he  explain  the 
mystery  of  his  conduct? 


IVHO   WERE   To  BLAME.  211 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE    CHIEF    OF    THE    SECRET    SERVICE    OF    THE    U.    S. 

The  evening  after  the  event  had  transpired  v^hich  w^e  have 
narrated  in  our  last  chapter,  sending  a  shuddering  thrill  of 
horror  through  all  the  world,  and  coming  near  overwhelming 
our  country  in  confusion,  riot  and  bloodshed.  Uncle  Tut  walked 
into  Aunt  Debby's  kitchen  with  an  unmistakable  air  of  having 
something  important  to  say. 

Standing  in  the  doorway  a  moment,  he  reached  up  his  hand 
in  his  own  peculiar  fashion  and  beckoned  Aunt  Debby  with  his 
forefinger,  as  of  yore;  she,  as  a  dutiful  wife  should,  left  her 
work  and  went  to  him,  taking  a  couple  of  doughnuts  which 
she  was  busy  frying — for  she  knew  Uncle  Tut's  weakness — but 
they  proved  no  temptation;  the  man  had  a  heavy  trouble  at  his 
heart,  and  only  hoarsely  stammered  some  words  into  Debby's 
ear  in  a  low  whisper,  which  caused  her  to  drop  into  the  nearest 
chair,  with  the  exclamation  "Laws  a  Massa,  Uncle  Tut,  what 
you  been  up  to  now  ?  I  declare  to  it,  I  never  did  see  such  another 
man  since  I  was  born;  all'us  getting  into  some  kind  of  a  mess, 
trying  to  help  some  poor  devil  'stead  o'  minding  your  own  af- 
fairs, you'll  find  yourself  in  hot  trouble  this  time  sure." 

"Hu-hush  Debby,  ke-keep  st-still,  or  it'll  co-come  true;  if 
you  do-don't,"  whispered  Uncle  Tut,  fairly  hissing  out  the  words 
between  his  teeth,  as  his  hard  hand  grasped  her  shoulder,  and 
he  stammered  more  than  ever,  in  his  suppressed  excitement. 

"I-I've  seen  him  an-and  1  kn-know  it's  true,  and  he's  no 
devil,  bu-but  su-sure  enough  poor  My-Myra  Greiveau's  crazy 
boy,"  and  Uncle  Tut  trembled  and  shook  with  emotion,  and 
the  tears  trickled  down  his  furrowed  face. 

"Myra  Grieveau's  boy!  Oh!  Uncle  Tut,  that  can  never  be, 
you're  not  telling  me  the  truth,  some  one  has  lied  to  you;  it 
aint  in  the  Grieveau  blood,  or  in  the  Gascoigne  either,  to  do 
such  a  dastardly  deed,  I  know.  No  matter  if  he  did  stray  away, 
and  didn't  get  half  brought  up,  after  Eben  and  his  sister  Ger- 
trude married  and  Lucille  went  to  John's  to  live,  I  tell  you, 
some  one's  lied  to  you." 

"But  Debby,  I-I've — seen  him^^  answered  Uncle  Tut  again. 

Still  Aunt  Debby  protested  vehemently;  the  while  sobbing 


1 

i 
I- 

212  IHE  STALWARTS;   OK, 

and  sighing,  and  wiping  her  eyes,  and  mopping  her  red  face 
vigorously  with  her  always  clean,  blue  checkered  apron;  that 
"Some  one  had  lied,  she'd  never  believe  the  story  about  Jules 
'till  she  saw  him  herself,  she'd  never  believe  Myra's  boy  would 
do  such  a  terrible  thing." 

But  even  Aunt  Debby  had  to  acknow^ledge  at  last  that  Jules 
Grieveau  was  the  man  who  had  shot  the  President;  and  now 
Uncle  Tut  wanted  his  wife's  help  in  his  efforts  to  save  the  crazy 
grandson  of  his  old  friend  Dr.  Gascoigne,  from  his  impending 
fate.  For  the  sake  of  the  good  man  long  dead,  and  his  sainted 
mother's  memory,  no  less  than  to  relieve  the  distress  of  Gertrude 
and  Lucille,  did  these  two  agree  to  use  their  best  endeavors. 
And  Aunt  Debby  proved  a  useful  ally. 

Through  the  influence  of  Gen.  Gascoigne,  and  from  his 
own  aptitude,  Uncle  Tut  had  come  to  be  a  trusted  member  of 
the  Metropolitan  Police  of  Washington,  and  had  often  worked 
in  the  detective  line;  being  from  his  efficiency  and  peculiar 
characteristics,  one  of  the  men  invariably  sent  for  by  the  Chief 
of  the  Secret  Service,  when  cooperation  was  needed  with  the 
regular  force. 

The  day  the  President  was  shot,  a  message  came  to  Uncle 
Tut  towards  evening,  that  the  new  Chief,  who  had  been  ap- 
pointed and  taken  charge  only  the  day  before,  wanted  to  see 
him,  and  he  immediately  repaired  to  the  office  of  the  Chief  of 
the  Secret  Service. 

The  change  being  so  recent,  it  chanced  that  Uncle  Tut  had 
not  seen  the  Chief  or  heard  his  name.  Being  ushered  into  his 
presence,  our  astonished  policeman  beheld  a  person  tall,  dig- 
nified, white  haired  and  benevolent  looking,  upon  every  linea- 
ment of  whose  face  was  stamped  kindness  of  heart  and  honesty 
of  purpose. 

His  bright  hazel  eye  of  keenest  glance,  shadowed  by  heavy, 
slightly  arched  brows,  and  the  broad,  high  forehead,  proving 
him  a  man  who  could  grasp  every  circumstance  however  minute, 
and  weighing  all,  arrive  at  a  sound  and  just  conclusion. 

Chief  Strong  had  in  middle  life  been  a  lawyer,  gaining 
through  a  successful  practice  in  criminal  courts  much  celebrity. 
His  peculiar  talents  and  quick  sympathy  causing  him  to  engage 
in  the  defense  of  various  persons  accused  of  crime,  as  he  deemed 
wrongfully,  and  making  a  masterly  defense,  his  services  had 
come  to  be  much  sought  after,  sometimes  by  those  who  had 
counted  the  cost  before  committing  the  crime. 

From  such  men,  ere  convinced  of  the  enormity  of  the  offense 


WHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  213 

against  society,  he  had  received  fabulous  sums  of  money,  work- 
ing upon  the  established  principle  of  law  that  a  man  must  be 
supposed  innocent  until  proven  guilty.  Like  all  earnest,  force- 
ful men,  he  did  his  best  when  once  engaged  on  a  case;  but  after 
the  trial  was  over,  his  clients  released  "scot  free"  perhaps,  or 
with  only  a  nominal  punishment;  when  the  excitement  of  con- 
test had  passed  away.  Chief  Strong's  honest  heart  had  often- 
times been  troubled  at  the  result  to  the  body  politic,  and  even 
to  those  whom  his  sober  judgment  condemned  as  guilty,  and 
at  last  the  astute  lawyer  had  come  to  be  the  discerner  and  detector, 
instead  of  the  excuser  and   defender  of  crime  and  of  criminals. 

And  further,  his  innate  sense  of  equity  and  kindness  of  nature, 
as  well  as  keenness  of  perception,  made  him  the  quick  discoverer 
of  fraud,  and  the  champion  of  those  wrongfully  accused,  or 
who  had  been  entrapped  into  vice  by  scheming  villains  and  dis- 
solute companions.  To  this  field  he  had  gravitated  and  settled, 
during  years  past  finding  ample  scope  for  the  exercise  of  his 
peculiar  characteristics  of  mind  and  heart; — from  being  one  of 
the  most  renowned  criminal  lawyers,  and  in  the  pursuit  of  his 
profession,  a  champion  story-teller,  he  had  risen  to  be  the  chief 
detector  of  shams,  of  frauds,  of  crimes,  in  places  both  high  and 
low,  where  deepest,  darkest  villainy  lurked,  no  less  than  among 
those  rendered  desperate  by  misfortune  and  hardship,  or  drawn 
into  bad  ways  by  unprincipled  associates. 

A  detective  whose  financial  circumstances  rendered  him  in- 
dependent of  criticism,  he  was  indomitable  in  perseverance,  un- 
surpassed in  quickness  and  insight,  and  while  incorruptible, 
carrying  a  heart  as  kindly  and  tender  as  a  mother  for  her  new- 
born babe. 

A  man  with  scarcely  a  peer  in  all  the  land  to  match  him  in 
ability  and  grandeur  of  character— z*/?^  chief  of  the  secret  service 
of  the  United  States  of  Ain erica. 

This  man  had  examined  the  assassin,  so-called,  on  the  night 
following  the  firing  of  the  cruel  shot  which  had  laid  the  Presi- 
dent low  upon  a  bed  of  pain,  drawing  to  him  the  intensest  sjm- 
pathy  of  the  whole  world;  and  had  reported  the  case  to  the 
Government  as  that  of  an  irresponsibly  insane  man  who  should 
be  tried  by  a  commission  in  lunacy  and  not  by  civil  process  as  a 
murderer. 

And  in  this  report  the  superintendent  of  the  Government 
asylum  for  the  insane,  situated  near  Washington,  concurred. 

Neither  of  these  men,  the  highest  oflicials  to  whom  the  case 
could  properly  be  submitted  and  to  whom  it   zvas  submitted   in 


214  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

the  very  beginning  ^before  the  death  of  the  martyred  President 
changed  the  administratioit^  ever  in  the  sHghtest  deviated 
from  this  testimony,  their  opinion  remaining  the  same  to  the 
end. 

As  Uncle  Tut  looked  upon  the  countenance  of  Chief  Strong- 
he  saw  that  time  had  softened  and  rendered  beautiful  the  face  of 
his  friend,  but  he  could  not  be  mistaken,  and  w^ith  unfeigned 
surprise  recognized  the  story-teller  of  the  storm-tossed  ship  of 
the  olden  time,  w^hich  carried  Gertrude,  her  mother  and  family 
to  Chicago  years  before;  and  whom  since  the  trouble  with  Silas 
Smith  over  his  prairie  claim,  Uncle  Tut  had  remembered  grate- 
fully; but  after  the  death  of  Dr.  Gascoigne  the  intimacy  drop- 
ping, they  had  heard  nothing  directly  for  a  long  time,  and  the 
name  being  a  common  one,  did  not  know  that  he  had  been  ap- 
pointed chief  of  the  secret  service  of  the  Government. 

The  men  instantly  extended  each  a  hand,  for  the. pleasure  at 
meeting  was  mutual  and  hearty;  and  then  the  Chief  told  Uncle 
Tutty  Swanson  what  he  wanted,  and  how  it  came  about  that  he 
had  so  promptly  sent  for  him. 

"  No  sooner  had  I  assumed  the  duties  of  my  new  position," 
said  the  Chief,  "than  the  assassination  occurred,  and  my  atten- 
tion was  called  to  yourself  as  a  man  to  be  implicitly  relied  upon, 
and  likely  to  act  with  good  judgment  in  any  emergency.  I  re- 
membered you  at  once  as  the  friend  of  Dr.  Gascoigne,  at 
whose  home  I  had  met  you  when  you  were  having  the  trouble 
with  your  neighbor  Silas  Smith,  since  become  famous,  out  in 
Illinois,  and  knowing  you  were  the  right  man  for  the  needed 
work,  I  determined  to  ask  your  assistance  in  ferreting  out  the 
terrible  mystery  which  confronts  us  in  the  attempted  assassina- 
tion of  the  President — Jules  Grieveau,  the  prisoner,  who  fired 
the  shot—" 

"  yules  Grieveau!  not  Jui.es  Grieveau!  Oh!  Chief 
Strong,  please  sir,  don't  say  it  was  Jules  Grieveau!  Not  our 
little  Julius!"  exclaimed  Uncle  Tut,  springing  from  his  seat, 
white  and  ghastly  as  though  himself  instead  of  the  stricken  Presi- 
dent were  the  victim;  then,  sinking  down  again,  burying  his 
face  in  his  rough  old  hands,  sobbing  aloud,  "  Juley,  Juley,  poor 
crazy  Juley,  why  didn't  yoii  come  home  to  Uncle  Tut  and 
Aunt  Debby  before  this  dreadful  thing  happened?" 

Chief  Strong  rose,  placing  a  hand  kindly  on  the  bowed  head, 
saying  a  few  comforting  words,  and  then  Uncle  Tut,  raising 
his  sad  face,  composed  himself  as  best  he  was  able,  listening  to 
all  the  Chief  could  tell. 


WHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  215 

*'  He  has  not  tried,  Mr.  Swanson,"  proceeded  Chief  Strong, 
"  to  conceal  his  name;  but  rather  glories  in  it  and  the  deed,  de- 
claring himself  '  God's  man,'  and  that  '  Deity  inspired  him  to 
the  act,'  but  while  each  look  and  every  word  the  man  utters 
proves  him  insane,  to  my  mind,  and  he  strongly  denies  the  idea 
of  a  conspiracy  or  that  he  was  instigated  by  any  person,  I  still 
believe  that  there  is  a  conspiracy  against  the  present  administra- 
tion of  the  Government,  even  though  the  crazy  tool  be  oblivious. 

"  Many  are  insisting  he  is  not  insane,  even  that  he  gave  a 
fictitious  name,  it  being  so  Frenchy  and  peculiar;  but  I  remem- 
bering well  both  my  old  friend  Dr.  Gascoigne  as  of  French  de- 
scent and  also  a  son-in-law,  called  Eben  Grieveau,  whose  wife 
Myra,  had  died  leaving  a  little  boy  named  Jules,  who  when  I  was 
in  Freelawn,  was  visiting  at  your  claim  with  his  Aunt  Lucille,  I 
have  sent  for  you,  Mr.  Swanson,  hoping  you  can  and  will  tell 
me  something  reliable  about  the  man  and  his  antecedents." 

"  Certainly,  Che-chief  Strong.  I-I  will  tell  you  al-all  I  can," 
and  Uncle  Tut  related  what  he  knew  of  the  sad  history,  which 
was  not  much  of  late  years — and  when  he  had  finished,  begged 
the  Chief  to  let  him  see  Jules  in  his  cell. 

The  Chief  had  already  visited  the  man,  and  as  he  said,  was 
fully  persuaded  of  his  insanity;  but  to  Uncle  Tut's  request  he 
the  more  readily  assented,  being  anxious  to  try  an  effect  upon 
the  prisoner,  by  suddenly  confronting  him  with  the  sight  of  an 
old  friend  whom  he  had  not  seen  for  years — since  early  youth 
— and  then  if  possible,  discover  whether  a  mistake  had  been 
made  in  the  diagnosis;  whether  after  all  the  man  knew  more 
than  he  pretended,  and  was  as  some  believed,  shamming. 

If  such  was  the  fact,  he  might  be  so  startled  upon  recogniz- 
ing Uncle  Tut  as  even  perhaps  to  show  some  soft-hearted  com- 
punction for  what  he  had  done,  some  remorse.  - 

Both  the  men  agreed  to  this  plan — for  much  as  the  Chief 
had  respected  the  grandfather  of  the  prisoner.  Dr.  Gascoigne — 
and  desired  for  this  reason  if  he  were  really  crazy  to  save  him, 
much  as  Uncle  Tut  had  loved  the  little  Jules,  Myra's  boy,  both 
the  men  loved  truth  and  justice  better  than  any  friend,  better 
even  than  themselves;  and  they  said  if  the  man  is  sane  who  did 
this  dastardly  deed,  whoever  he  may  be,  he  deserves  no  help. 

And  of  this  mind  they  went  together,  the  Chief  and  Uncle 
Tut,  to  visit  the  assassin  in  his  cell. 


216  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THERE    ARE    OTHERS    TOO. 

The  dusk  of  evening  was  upon  them  when,  after  a  ride  of 
a  mile  or  more,  taking  them  across  the  common  and  beyond  the 
Congregational  cemetery  towards  the  Potomac  Flats,  about 
two  miles  from  the  Capitol,  the  two  detectives  came  in  sight, 
from  a  slight  rise  in  the  ground,  of  a  massive  brown  stone 
structure. 

Uncle  Tut  had  seen  the  Washington  jail  often  before  this 
night,  but  never  did  it  seem  so  gloomy,  dark,  awful  to  him ;  and 
he  fairly  shuddered  as  he  thought  of  Myra's  boy  being  there, 
friendless,  alone. 

They  entered — the  Chief  and  he — and  after  a  few  words 
spoken  with  the  warden,  a  tall,  military,  severe  looking  man, 
who  seemed  as  though  he  had  known  enough  of  horror  to  fill 
the  days  and  nights  of  a  legion  of  men  with  one  long  night- 
mare of  regret,  the  three  passed  out  through  the  large  re- 
ception room  entered  from,  the  warden's  office,  and  thence  to  a 
spacious,  open,  stone-paved  court. 

Carefully  locking  the  iron  doora  after  him,  the  warden  led 
the  way  across  the  court,  past  a  large,  circular,  iron-railed  cor- 
ridor, inside  which  an  iron  staircase  wound  from  the  foundations 
down  out  of  sight,  up  to  the  highest  tier  of  cells. 

After  passing  the  corridor,  the  warden  opened  a  grated  door 
to  the  left  of  the  jail  as  they  entered,  and  then  another  just 
beyond,  leading  into  a  passage  about  four  feet  wide,  and  twenty- 
five  or  thirty  long,  perhaps  ten  feet  high.  On  the  left  side  of 
this  passage  w^ere  the  cells,  eight  or  ten  feet  long  and  four  wide, 
a  narrow  window  at  the  end,  an  iron  bedstead  constituting  with 
the  bedding  the  only  furniture. 

When  the  men  reached  the  cell  where  Jules  was  confined, 
the  datkness  and  gloom  of  night  had  settled  within  the  jail,  and 
only  the  tramp  of  the  guards  in  the  narrow  passage,  mingled 
with  a  strange,  drooning  sound  from  within,  disturbed  the  still- 
ness. 

As  the  warden  unlocked  the  outer  door,  the  light  from  his 
lamp  flashed  through  the  grating,  falling  upon  the  figure  of  a 
small  man  stretched  his  full  length  upon  the  iron  cot,  lying  flat 


iri/0   WERE   TO  BLAME.  217 

upon  his  back,  not  yet  undressed;  his  feet  towards  the  window 
of  the  cell,  his  head  near  the  door. 

He  did  not  seem  to  be  disturbed  in  the  slightest  by  the  party 
entering  the  passage,  but  continued  the  drooning,  monotonous 
song:  to  w^hich   he   was   beating-   time   with    his  feet  against  the 

o  o  o 

wall,  not  stirring  himself  to  investigate  the  intrusion;  but  when 
the  warden  started  to  unlock  the  door  of  the  cell  and  was  about 
to  enter,  the  light  falling  upon  his  face,  he  roused  up  angrily 
demanding,  "How  dared  they  come  there  at  that  time  of  night, 
interrupting  a  gentleman  in  his  meditations?" 

And  Uncle  Tut  beheld  Myra's  crazy  boy;  his  eyes  glaring 
and  rolling  in  their  sockets,  with  an  incessant  motion  as  in- 
describable as  it  was  horrible;  his  face  gaunt,  haggard,  distorted, 
but  still  the  face  of  the  little  Jules  he  had  loved.  The  short, 
stubbed,  unkempt  hair  as  unlike  the  soft,  silky  locks  he  had  so 
often  stroked  tenderly,  as  it  was  possible  for  time,  neglect  and 
hardship  to  make  them. 

As  the  real  condition  of  Jules  Grieveau  dawned  upon  his 
old  friend,  and  he  realized  the  forlorn  and  abject  wreck  he  was, 
when  Uncle  Tut  saw  the  manacled  hands  trembling  with  rage, 
helplessly  lifted  together  as  Jules  gesticulated  fiercely — the  same 
hands  which  had  rested  confidingly  in  his  own,  many  an  hour, 
as  they  strolled  about  the  old  farm  on  the  Illinois  prairie,  long 
ago — so  long^  it  seemed  now  to  Uncle  Tut,  the  sight  was  too 
much  even  for  the  rough,  blunt  man  that  he  was,  and  his  strong 
frame  shook  with  grief ,  as  sob  after  sob  burst  from  the  heaving 
breast,  and  tears  trickled  through  the  fingers  of  his  toil  worn 
hands  supporting  his  bowed  head. 

All  the  tenderness  of  his  manly,  rugged  nature  yearned  to 
take  the  crazy,  friendless  boy  in  his  arms  and  comfort  him,  as 
he  had  done  many  a  time  when  he  was  a  baby. 

Recovering,  Uncle  Tut  spoke  gently  to  Jules,  calling  him 
by  name.  There  was  no  response;  but  his  attention  was  ap- 
parently arrested  by  the  voice,  and  he  became  quieter.  Uncle 
Tut  spoke  again,  calling  him  a  pet  name  he  had  given  him  when 
a  little  fellow — "Juley,  do  yo-you  know  me?"  The  man  stood 
still,  hesitated,  scowled  and  replied,  "Ves,  you're  another  old 
crazy  tramp  they've  brought  to  tell  me  not  to  do  it^  but  I  did 
though.  Did  you  'spose  I  w^ouldn't  when  the  Lord  said  I 
must  P  The  Deity  and  me,  we  did  a  good  job  that  time,  I  can 
tell  you,  if  the  confounded  doctors  don't  spoil  it  all;  but  I  guess 
they  won't  now.  The  Deity'll  take  care  of  that,  and  they  know 
what  they're   about.      Ha!    Ha!    Ha!"     And   with  a  wierd,  in- 


218  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

sane,  nervous  laugh,  between  a  chuckle  and  a  guffaw,  the  dia- 
bolically crazy  man,  with  his  manacled  hands  fastened  together, 
rolled  helplessly  upon  his  couch,  stretched  himself  flat  on  his 
back  as  before,  and  resumed  the  meaningless,  monotonous  song 
accompanied  by  the  same  tattoo,  exactly  as  though  nothing  had 
happened  to  interrupt  him. 

The  old  Chief,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  turned  to  Uncle  Tut, 
and  grasping  his  hard  hand,  said,  "  Come." 

The  warden  locked  the  cell  door,  and  leaving  the  two 
guards  wearily  tramping  up  and  down  the  narrow  passage  as 
before,  the  men  sadly  passed  out  to  the  open  air. 

When  the  Chief  and  Uncle  Tut  had  entered  their  carriage, 
the  Chief  turned  and  asked,  "  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  him, 
Mr.  Swanson? " 

"  Th-think!  th-there's  but  one  thing  to  think;  he's  crazy  as 
a  loon,"  stammered  Uncle  Tut.  "  I  knowed  he'd  never  a  do- 
done  such  a  dastardly  deed  if  he  wa-wasn't.  Ca-can  anyth- 
thing  be  do-done  for  him,  sir?" 

"  I  fear  not,  Mr.  Swanson.  The  populace  are  wild  with 
rage,  the  politicians  w^io  started  the  quarrel  are  scared  out  of 
their  wits,  and  determined  to  make  him  the  scapegoat  in  order 
to  save  themselves.    I  am  sorry  to  tell  you,  the  case  looks  hopeless. 

"  Both  the  Government  asylum  superintendent  and  myself 
have  reported  the  man  insane,  but  some  of  the  Government 
officials,  who,  I  believe  are  engaged  in  a  great  scheme  with  vil- 
lains across  the  water,  are  determined  not  to  recognize  the  fact, 
and  have  placed  the  matter  in  the  hands  of  the  United  States 
District  Attorney,  who  is  also  one  of  whom  I  am  suspicious,  to 
work  up  a  case  against  him. 

"He  has  already  sent  for  Greybeard,  who  manages  an  in- 
sane asylum,  more  of  a  prison  than  refuge,  when  he  is  not  too 
busy  outside,  giving  testimony  to  run  someone  as  sane  as  any 
other  man  or  woman  into  an  asylum  out  of  the  way  of  some- 
body's interest,  or  in  trying  his  best  to  have  a  poor  fellow  hung 
who  has  unfortunately  committed  a  terrible  deed  while  in  one 
of  the  paroxysms  of  insanity — he  can  swear  on  either  side,  it  is 
immaterial  to  him  if  only  he  is  well  paid." 

And  this  is  as  the  case  stood,  just  as  the  Chief  of  the  Secret 
Service  in  Washington  stated  it  then  within  a  few  days  of  the 
occurence — which  had  sent  consternation  and  dismay  over  the 
world — and  just  as  he  afterwards  testified  on  the  witness  stand, 
when  he  was  sworn,  in  the  trial  of  Jules  Grieveau  the  so  called 


IVI/O  WERE   TO  BLAME.  219 

As  the  two  men  rode  back  to  the  city  the  Chief  imparted 
some  few  of  the  strange  things  which  he  had  found  out  since 
commencing  to  investigate  Jules'  case  and  also  his  suspicions, 
based  upon  the  facts  which  he  had  gathered. 

"  And  Swanson,"  said  the  Chief,  "  I  believe  there  are  others 
who  are  not  insane,  but  only  devilish — mixed  up  in  this  affair, 
and  I  want  you  to  help  me  nnd  them  ixll^  everyone. 

"  God  helping  me,  I  will,  Chief,  if  it  ta-takes  me  at  all  my 
life  time,  or  even  life  itself,"  answered  .Uncle  Tut,  "  he-here's 
my  hand,"  and  when  that  honest  hand  clasped  another  it  meant 
a  great  deal. 

Said  the  Chief,  further — "  I  have  found  that  Gen.  Gascoigne 
the  son  of  my  old  friend,  and  even  the  vice-President  are  mixed 
up  in  this  business.  They  certainly  act  strangely,  and  there  are, 
I  am  satisfied,  a  good  many  mo7'e  in  it  too.'''' 

"  Gen.  Gascoigne  has  never  met  me,  and  my  name  of  Strong 
is  so  common  he  Avill  hardly  think  of  connecting  it  now  with 
the  friend  he  has  heard  his  father  mention  years  ago  possibly. 
We  must  watch  these  people,  and  everyone  else  to  whom  the 
slightest  suspicion  attaches  wherever  we  can  get  a  clue;  they 
might  perhaps  suspect  me  were  I  to  approach  them,  but  you 
know  the  family  and  I  shall  leave  this  work  to  you."  And  for 
Uncle  Tut  as  an  obedient  subordinate,  there  was  no  alternative. 

Continued  the  Chief:  "  I  believe  the  sequel  will  prove  both 
the  son  of  my  old  friend  and  the  vice-President  innocent  of 
any  wrong  intention,  but  they  are  in  some  w^ay  mixed  up  with 
those  who  are  aware,  in  their  hearts,  how  this  thing  was  done 
— and  why — and  Mr.  Swanson,  you  and  I  must  do  our  duty 
whoever  stands  in  the  way." 

A  hint  of  these  things  is  what  Uncle  Tut  had  whispered  in 
Aunt  Debby's  ear,  and  he  wanted  her  to  help  him  in  finding 
out  why  Jules  did  it. 


220  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

THE    PRESIDENT    IS    DEAD. 

While  Jules  was  lying  sometimes  stupid  in  his  cell,  or  again 
glorying  because  ''the  Deity  and  he  "  had  done  it — while  the 
doctors  were  working  over  the  suffering  president,  probing 
honestly  or  otherwise,  for  the  fatal  bullet,  until  the  tortured 
body  was  riddled  with  gaping  wounds  and  the  burrowing  pus 
was  draining  his  life  away;  while  the  civilized  v/orld  watched 
anxiously  with  bated  breath;  while  Silas  Smith  manipulated 
the  wires,  guarding  well  the  interests  of  those  engaged  in  the 
success  of  the  "  great  scheme,"  receiving  daily,  even  hourly,  cy- 
pher dispatches  from  the  bedside  of  the  sick  president,  as  his 
pulse  went  up  with  increasing  strength  or  down  with  deathly 
weakness,  a  manoeuvre  which  enabled  these  wily  demons  to  con- 
trol Wall  Street  stocks  for  their  gain ;  while  these  things  were 
transpiring,  the  Chief  and  Uncle  Tut  were  doing  their  utmost  to 
discover  the  hidden,  mysterious  "  vjhy  "  of  the  sad  tragedy. 

They  had  seen  the  decoy,  and  knew  there  must  be  game 
somewhere. 

And  the  U.  S.  District  Attorney,  with  a  well  selected  corps 
of  assistants,  was  endeavoring  to  establish  the  sanity  of  an  un- 
mistakably insane  man,  that  he  alone  might  bear  the  blame, 
which  really  belonged  to  others. 

Finally,  after  weeks  and  months  of  excruciating  suffering, 
bravely  borne,  the  martyred  President  was  released  from  pain, 
andwent  cheerfully,  trustingly,  to  his  home  in  the  Hereafter. 

As  the  midnight  cry,  "  The  Pi-esident  is  dead!  the  Presi- 
dent is  dead!  "  resounded  through  the  streets,  every  heart  stood 
still,  and  all  felt  that  one  about  whom  their  own  lives  were  cen- 
tered, for  a  time  at  least,  had  left  them  for  the  Better  Land,  and 
the  people  of  his  native  country — of  the  whole  world — grieved 
as  for  their  own  kin. 

Never  was  known  mourning  so  universal  and  sincere,  in- 
tensified by  the  feeling  everywhere  acknowledged  that  events 
leading  to  his  cruel  death  were  still  shrouded  in  an  unfathomed 
obscurity  and  gloom.  Those  who,  by  the  change  in  officials 
which  was  wrought,  constituted  the  new  administration,  claimed, 
when  the  reputed   assassin   was  placed   on   trial,  that  he  alone 


WHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  23  L 

should  be  blamed,  but,  for  an  unaccountable  reason  (?),  were 
evidently  afraid  somebody  would  think  this  was  not  true — that 
somebody  would  withhold  assent  to  their  assertions. 

And  many  did  refuse  to  concede  this  view  of  the  case  ;  really, 
almost  every  one  persisted  in  believing  something  else.  Cir- 
cumstances and  the  facts,  when  they  could  be  gotten  at^  pointed 
so  clearly  to  a  different  conclusion. 

The  discovery  was  made,  after  a  time,  that  stupendous 
frauds  had  been  attempted  against  the  Government,  looking  to 
anarchy  and  destruction,  and  that,  in  the  course  of  the  investi- 
gation pending  just  before  the  President  was  shot,  it  became 
apparent  that  some  of  those  who  helped,  by  their  money  and 
influence,  to  elect  him,  were  implicated  in  these  frauds. 

It  transpired  that  some  of  the  lawyers  and  officials  who  be- 
came cognizant  of  these  facts  went  to  the  President  and  urged 
him  to  desist  from  the  prosecution  of  those  who  claimed  the 
right  to  assert  themselves  his  friends.  But  the  President  was 
inexorable,  and  declared  his  intention  of  ferreting  out  the  whole 
matter,  whoever  stood  in  the  way,  directing  a  certain  attorney 
to  go  ahead  vigorously,  notwithstanding  friend  or  foe;  this  man 
being  accompanied  by  a  high  official  of  the  administration,  who 
was  an  honest,  steadfast  friend  of  the  President,  as  after-devel- 
opments proved,  went — both  urging,  even  begging,  the  doomed 
man  to  change  his  course  towards  those  w^ho  had  perpetrated  the 
frauds  upon  the  Government,  and  who  at  the  time  intended  still 
worse  doings;  the  lawyer  going  so  far  as  to  declare  he  feared 
something  dreadful  would  happen  if  the  President  persisted  in 
his  offensive  attitude  towards  them;  and  this,  at  midnight  a  few 
hours  before  the  shot  was -fired  which  ended  his  career.  Tes- 
timony, which  was  subsequently  given  under  oath,  upon  this 
interview  proved  conclusively  that  it  was  "  cooked''''  up,  as  a  last 
desperate  attempt  to  turn  the  tide  of  events,  which  they  began 
to  fear  would  engulph  theui  instead  of  the  Government,  and 
they  now  wished,  if  possible,  to  save  the  President  without 
sacrificing  the   conspirators. 

It  also  transpired  the  same  night,  earlier  in  the  evening,  that 
some  one  was  reported  to  have  uttered  these  w^ords?  '''•The  time 
has  cofne  when  we  must  choose  between  murder  and  suicide y 
andl  PREFER  murder!"  Whether  this  circumstance  had  any 
connection  with  the  final  catastrophe  was  never  fully  proven, 
but  to  the  majority  of  the  people,  that  sentence  flying  over  the 
night  wires  to  Washington,  just  before  the  midnight  interview 
with  the  President,  will  always  be  interpreted  as  the  concerted 


2-22  THE  STALWARTS;    OK, 

signal^  the  shi'ill  bugle-note  of  doo??i^  hastening  on  the  fateful 
crisis — the  shooting  of  the  President  occurring  after  he  had 
given  his  last  absolute,  immovable  decision  on  the  matter  in 
controversy,  namely,  that  "He  would  not  desist,  would  not  stand 
back,"  but  insisting  that  the  "  investigation  of  the  'great  frauds' 
must  proceed  at  once,  whoever  might  suffer,  be  he  friend  or 
foe." 

And  this  last  official  duty  done,  as  he  was  about  seeking  the 
sorely  needed  rest  from  the  anxieties  which  had  harrassed  him 
since  the  moment  of  taking  his  seat  in  the  presidential  chair  to 
the  time  when  he  had  hoped  the  contention  ended  by  his  an- 
swer, and  he  could  now  pass  the  remainder  of  the  summer  peace- 
fully, the  thunderbolt  of  destiny  burst  upon  him,  and  a  good 
President/^// — assassinated  by  a  monied,  political,  mon- 
archical RING,  TOO  COWARDLY  TO  MEET  THE  ISSUES  OF 
THEIR  OWN  SCHEME,  OR  EVEN  PERPETRATE  IN  PERSON  THEIR 
LAST  DESPERATE  RESORT. 

To  the  trembling  hand  of  a  weak  and  insanely  religious  fan- 
atic, worked  upon  until  he  believed  himself  inspired  and  directed 
by  Deity  to  consummate  their  villainy  by  "removing"  the  Pres- 
ident out  of  their  way,  was  intrusted  the  execution  of  the  final 
diabolism. 

A  few  hours  after  the  shot  was  fired,  as  the  morning  boat 
from  Albany  neared  New  York,  bearing  among  others  Cronk- 
sey  and  Silas  Smith,  the  passengers  noticed  that  when  the  start- 
ling news.of  the  assassination  was  flying  from  mouth  to  mouth 
these  two  slipped  quietly  away,  not  seeming  surprised  by  the 
dire  announcement,  locking  themselves  securely  in  a  state- 
room. 

Upon  landing,  they  got  themselves  speedily  into  a  close  car- 
riage, driving  rapidly  to  Smith's  private  residence,  which  he 
still  retained  in  New  York,  where  they  remained  secreted  for  a 
week  or  more  from  the  populace  until  the  excitement  had  some- 
what abated — guarded  {or  watched!  which  was  it?)  all  this 
time  by  a  picked  force  of  the  city  police  and  Government 
troops. 

What  could  these  7nen  have  heen  afraid  of?  Surely  not  the 
ghost  of  either  the  martyred  President  or  oj  crazy  Grievau ! 
Not  them,  for  neither  was  yet  dead! 

But  even  at  this  early  stage  of  the  unfolding  and  disclosure 
of  the  plot,  talk  of  conspiracy  and  foul  play  was  bruited  about, 
and  the  names  of  Cronksey,  Silas  Smith,  and  some  others,  were 
spoken   in   no  soft  whispers   by  the  infuriated  people.     When 


WHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  223 

projecting  a  skillful  piece  of  strategy,  the  press  was  immedi- 
ately flooded  by  Smith  with  stories  of  the  infamy  of  the  "  vile 
assassin,"  as  he  was  called,  and  popular  attention  being  diverted 
from  those  in  high  places,  all  the  wrath  was  turned  upon  this 
man,  who  had  been  used  as  their  tool,  unknown  to  hi7nself. 

Early  in  the  progress  of  events  the  U.  S.  District  Attorney, 
pursuant  of  the  plan  marked  out,  had  prepared  a  statement  from 
some  of  the  facts  in  his  possession,  garbled  to  fit  the  idea  of  the 
heading,  namely,  ^''  He  is  sane!''''  and  sent  it  floating  through 
the  press.  Everywhere  the  desired  effect  was  produced,  and 
the  tide  of  sympathy  for  the  man,  which  had  been  associated 
with  the  belief  in  his  insanity,  fast  gaining  in  the  minds  of  the 
people,  was  changed,  and  the  feeling  that  he  was  a  "  vile  assas- 
sin," a  monster  in  human  shape,  sa7ie  and  entirely  responsible 
for  his  act,  became  paramount,  and  the  needed  "scape-goat"  was 
ready  at  hand  to  be  offered  up  for  the  political  sins  of  others. 
All  that  fateful  summer  \)!\q press  of  the  world w?is  flooded  with 
stories,  too  horrible  to  repeat,  of  the  life-long  wickedness  of  the 
"vile  assassin,"  as  he  was  everywhere  called.  Even  from  the 
pulpit,  where  men  stand  forth  to  preach  the  gospel  of  a  loving 
Saviour,  vituperation  was  heaped  upon  this  doomed,  well-nigh 
friendless  lunatic,  and  maledictions  were  hurled  without  mercy. 

At  last,  after  the  death  of  the  President,  and  the  change  had 
taken  place  in  the  administration,  preparations  were  made  for 
the  trial  of  Jules  Grieveau,  his  reputed  assassinator.  Such  ter- 
rible excitement  possessed*  the  people,  such  loathing  of  the  ac- 
cused man,  it  was  difficult  to  secure  a  competent  lawyer  for  the 
defense.  Finally  the  husband  of  his  sister  Gertrude,  although 
poorly  prepared  for  the  work — being  ignorant  of  criminal  prac- 
tice, and  never  having  tried  a  case  of  insanity,  both  requiring 
special  talent  and  experience  for  a  successful  issue — announced 
his  willingness  to  undertake  the  business  necessary  to  be  at- 
tended to  upon  the  preliminary  examination  of  the  prisoner,  and 
his  probable  indictment  for  the  crime  of  murder,which  the  pros- 
ecution was  determined  to  force  if  possible. 

The  friends  of  Jules  Grieveau  accepted  this  offer,  sadly  un- 
derrating the  importance  of  every  move  in  the  preparatory  steps 
of  such  a  trial  as  this  one  proved  to  be,  and  expecting  to  secure 
associate  counsel  suitable  for  the  importance  of  the  occasion,  even 
after  the  case  was  commenced,  not  knowing  the  difficulties  in 
the  way  of  such  procedure. 

Gertrude  hoped,  should  her  husband  save  her  crazy  brother — 
an  easy  matter  as  it  seemed  to  her,  lacking  political   and  legal 


224  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

knowledge — he  might  also  retrieve  his  own  dilapidated  fortunes 
through  the  renown  he  should  acquire;  and  this  idea  was  sug- 
gested at  first  by  her  husband  himself. 

Bitterly  did  she  arid  the  other  friends  of  Jules  have  cause  to- 
regret  this  turn  in  affairs;  for  they  found  that  only  a  lawyer 
w^ith  great  political  influence,  well  up  in  all  the  tricks  and  wire- 
pulling of  the  demagogues  who  rule  the  country  and  infest  the 
Capitol,  could  by  any  possibility  have  won  this  case.  Even 
though  a  man  have  truth  and  justice  on  his  side,  he  cannot  safely, 
enter  a  contest  in  court,  unless  he  is  prepared  to  use  the  same 
means  as  are  at  the  command  of  the  opposite  party  in  the  case. 
Gertrude's  husband,  although  a  very  good  lawyer,  was  not 
versed  in  the  sharp  practices  of  criminal  trials,  or  the  ways  that 
are  devious  and  dark,  peculiarly  prevalent  in  the  courts  of  the 
District  of  Columbia,  and  especially  brought  into  requisition  in 
this  particular  trial,  for  political  reasons — aiming  at  the  result  of 
hanging  their  man,  whether  sane  or  insane.  They  also  found 
that  no  competent  lawyer  will  consent  to  take  a  second  place  in 
an  important  trial,  under  a  man  he  knows  to  be  inferior  in  knowl- 
edge to  himself,  and  surely  not  after  the  case  has  been  com- 
menced, and  perhaps  poorly  handled. 

And  thus  it  happened  that  this  defender  of  the  w^eak  and 
penniless  was,  w^ien  the  case  came  to  trial,  unevenly  matched 
one  against  three — three  competent,  well-paid  men,  against 
one  man,  poor,  overworked,  and  unpaid,  struggling  to 
meet  the  current  expenses  from  day  to  day — Gertrude  having 
mortgaged  the  little  patrimony  left  to  the  family  (inherited  from 
Grandfather  Gascoigne),  for  the  means  of  making  the  trip  and 
carrying  on  the  trial  in  Washington. 

Strangely  enough  Gen.  John  A.  Gascoigne,  the  only  one  of 
the  family  who  had  influence  and  money,  held  himself  entirely 
aloof  from  the  defence  of  his  sister's  child;  even  shunned  all 
association  with  those  who,  braving  contumely  and  disgrace, 
quietly  persisted  in  standing  firmly  by  him  to  the  bitter  end. 
Chief  in  devotion  Gertrude  and  Lucille;  defending  and  protect- 
ing to  the  full  extent  of  their  ability,  doing  all  they  could,  but 
proving  a  hopeless  contest,  resulting  as  might  have  been  fore- 
seen. 


WhfO  WERE   TO  BLAME. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

JULES'  TRIAL. THE    VERDICT. 

All  efforts  to  have  him  tried  by  a  lunacy  commission  having 
failed — Jules  Grieveau  had  been  indicted  for  the  murder  of  the 
President,  and  the  day  set  for  the  commencement  of  his  trial 
was  reached. 

Gertrude,  her  husband  and  Lucille,  w^ith  his  few  other  friends 
were  assembled  in  Washington  to  give  their  testimony  in  his 
behalf  and  help  as  they  could — and  the  hour  had  come  when 
the  despised  assassin  was  to  be  brought  into  court  and  before  the 
judge  for  trial. 

The  Press  for  months  had  been  teeming  with  bitterness — 
the  air  was  full  of  threats  and  menaces — the  guards  had  been 
doubled  and  trebled,  that  the  law  might  take  its  course  w^ithout 
interference  from  the  mob. 

At  last  the  judge  was  upon  the  bench — a  man  of  plain,  kind 
exterior — with  a  marked  fatherly  manner,  peculiarly  captivat- 
ing, and  perhaps  misleading  to  the  prisoner  and  his  friends;  but 
who  when  the  final  decision  came,  gave  it  with  the  cold  in- 
cisiveness  of  glittering  steel. 

The  jury  of  twelve  good  men  and  true  as  w^as  hoped  were 
seated  in  their  places  to  the  right  of  the  judge. 

The  counsel  for  the  Administration,  headed  by  the  pompous 
little  District  Attorney,  accompanied  by  his  colored  factotum 
Sam,  were  ranged  beside  a  table  near  the  jury  for  a  reason 
which  early  in  the  proceedings,  on  to  the  end,  became  apparent. 

Then  came  the  counsel  for  the  defense — one  man — and  the 
prisoner's  friends — three  w^omen  and  a  child — Gertrude's  little 
Elsie — next  her  sat  Lucille,  a  vacant  chair  between  them  re- 
served for  the  prisoner,  who  had  not  yet  been  brought  in;  and 
behind  these  a  space  for  his  body-guard,  one  of  whom  was 
Uncle  Tutty  Swanson;  occupying  the  room  intervening  before 
the  Judge — about  two  dozen  news  reporters. 

As  the  court-room  door  opened  for  the  entrance  of  Jules 
Grieveau,  the  hushed  murmer,  "  There  he  comes,"  then  all  was 
still,  every  eye  strained  in  the  vast  crowd — packed — not  an  inch 
of  room  to  spare — appropriated  by  those  eager  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  "  monster  "  as  he  had  been  so  often  styled. 

15 


226  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

When  a  little  man  cowering  among  his  guards  came  rapidly 
along  the  passage  cleared  for  him — his  eyes  rolling  wildly  in 
the  incessant  horrible  way  before  described,  his  face  that  of  a 
hunted  animal,  pursued  to  the  death — the  awed  w^hisper  spread 
from  one  to  another,  "  Why,  he's  crazy!  see!  he's  crazy!  "  and 
a  shudder  of  horror,  tempered  with  pity,  transfixed  and  softened 
every  heart  in  that  assembly,  where  before  had  been  only  bit- 
terest hatred. 

The  prisoner  was  brought  past  the  jury  and  seated  in  the 
vacant  chair  between  Gertrude  and  Lucille,  the  three  policemen 
in  their  places  standing  guard  behind  them,  little  Elsie  in  front 
of  Uncle  Tut,  beside  Aunt  Debby ;  and  thus  they  remained  side 
by  side  in  that  dreary,  crowded  court-room  for  three  weary 
months,  and  as  they  sat  and  looked  and  Hstened,  day  by  day, 
these  women  wondered  if  there  was  a  God  in  Heaven  or  no. 

During  the  highest  excitement,  when  the  prosecution  were 
pouring  in  broadside  after  broadside  of  subborned  testimony  to 
prove  Jules  a  sane  villain  instead  of  an  insane  tool,  when  threats 
of  mobbing  and  shooting  were  freely  spoken,  and  his  violent 
death  had  been  twice  attempted;  these  brave  women  varied 
their  position  by  inclining  their  bodies,  so  that  bullets  coming 
from  either  of  the  three  accessible  sides  of  the  room  must  first 
hit  them  before  they  could  reach  him — believing  no  sane  per- 
son would  be  found  with  a  heart  to  shoot  women  down  who 
were  from  day  to  day  risking  their  lives  in  defence  of  a  poor 
fellow  too  crazy  to  realize  his  own  danger.  And  they  were 
right,  even  the  presence  of  the  child  Elsie  was  a  protection. 

Their  anxiety  for  Jules'  safety  was  partly  that  an  opportu- 
nity might  be  had  for  proving  his  insanity,  and  thereby  the 
stigma  be  removed  from  the  honored  name  of  Grieveau — also 
because  they  loved  him  as  we  all  love  our  own,  and  besides  they 
cared  and  labored  for  him,  for  his  dead  mother's  sake. 

After  the  first  day  was  over  and  Gertrude  and  Lucille  had 
seen  Jules  returned  in  safety  to  the  prison  van,  and  had  them- 
selves wearily  gained  the  quarters  secured  for  them  near  the 
court-room,  as  they  waited  a  few  moments  in  the  little  parlor,  a 
pale,  sweet-faced  woman  stepped  up  to  them  and  said: 

"Pardon  my  intrusion,  but  I  wrote  a  bitter  article  for  the 
papers  yesterday  about  the  man  who  shot  the  president;  forgive 
me,  I  did  not  know  until  I  saw  him  in  Court  to-day,  that  he  was 
crazy."  And  the  little  news  correspondent  burst  into  tears.  Such 
heartfelt  sympathy  greeted  these  sorrowing  ones  on  every  side, 
when   the   truth    began    to  be  seen  as   to  the  man's  condition, 


lVI/0  WERE   TO  BLAME.  227 

wb'ch  was  apparent  ©nough  as  he  was  uncontrollable  from  the 
first,  and  insisted  upon  talking  every  thing  which  came  into  his 
crazy  head,  without  regard  to  advice  or  counsel.  One  of  his 
favorite  expressions  being  "I  want  the  truth  no  matter  who  gets 
hit — give  us  the  ti'uth  Bloaty^^  meaning  the  prosecuting  at- 
torney. 

When  all  was  ready,  the  government  opening  their  case, 
after  speeches  on  both  sides  were  made,  the  real  trial — the 
bringing  of  witnesses  to  prove  the  assertions  of  the  indictment — 
was  commenced.  All  the  witnesses  for  the  government  had 
been  well  drilled,  knew  just  what  they  were  expected  to  say, 
their  name  was  legion,  and  they  swore  him  a  sane  villain. 

The  defense  to  the  accusation  of  murder  were  simply  and 
solely  insanity.  After  the  history  of  the  man's  birth  and  Hfe 
as  herein  narrated,  had  been  proved,  and  a  clear  case  of  insan- 
ity made  out,  resulting  from  pre-natal  conditions,  and  subsequent 
adverse  circumstances,  the  government  in  rebuttal,  produced  a 
score  or  more  of  well  paid  asylum  superintendents  w^ho  swore 
that  the  crazy  prisoner  was  perfectly  sane  and  responsible  for 
his  act,  and  this,  in  the  face  of  myriads  of  people  who  had  vis- 
ited the  court  room,  seen  the  man,  and  kneiv  that  he  was  crazy, 
but  dared  not  give  their  testimony  in  his  behalf.  Opposing  the 
strong  force  arrayed  against  him  by  the  power,  money  and  in- 
fluence of  the  administration,  poor  Jules  could  only  bring  the 
heart-broken  women  Gertrude  and  Lucille,  the  brother-in-law, 
between  whom  and  himself  there  had  been  only  antagonism 
since  his  boyhood — the  mere  sight  of  the  man  exasperating 
him  almost  to  frenzy;  and  a  handful  of  witnesses,  including  two 
physicians  who  refused  to  yield  to  the  almost  universal  preju- 
dice. A  prejudice  which  had  been  assiduously  cultivated  by 
Silas  Smith,  in  the  interests  of  those  engaged  in  the  great 
fraud;  through  the  medium  of  the  Press  of  the  country,  since 
first  the  shot  was  fired,  during  all  the  months  of  the  President's 
suffering,  until  now,  the  reputed  assassin  was  on  trial  for  his 
life. 

A  prejudice  so  strong  and  vindictive  that  from  his  native 
town,  where  his  father  and  his  mother  had  lived  respected  and 
loved,  and  where  it  was  well  known  the  boy  had  an  unfortunate 
birth,  witnesses  were  brought  against  him,  w^ho  stated  privately 
that  they  dared  not  give  other  than  the  testimony  elicited,  that 
they  could  not  return  among  their  old  neighbors  and  dwell  in 
peace — did  they  swear  otherwise. 

Even  Gen.  John  A.  Gascoigne    pretended   to  believe  Jules, 


228  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

his  sister's  child,  knew  better  than  to  do  such  a  thing,  though 
he  was  somewhat  "cranky."  The  fact  being  he  had  been  so 
long  separated  from  the  boy,  he  had  lost  his  natural  affection 
for  him;  besides  he  was  tied  hand  and  foot,  and  could  not  help 
himself,  and  in  taking  this  position,  thought  he  was  choosing 
the  smallest  horn  of  the  dilemma — perhaps  he  was  for  himself. 

But  Gen.  Gascoigne  was  becoming  a  mystery  to  his  friends, 
especially  to  Uncle  Tut,  such  strange  things  were  now  coming 
to  light  through  the  investigation  of  the  Chief  and  himself. 
They  were  sorely  puzzled  and  distressed. 

They  had  discovered  that  Cronksey  was  a  cousin  of  Myra, 
the  mother  of  Jules,  the  mother  of  Jules  and  the  father  of 
Cronksey  being  descended  from  the  same  English  lord,  and 
of  course  bearing  the  same  relationship  fo  Gen.  Gascoigne,  and 
that  the  General  was  in  some  way  interested  in  the  success  of 
the  "great  scheme"  they  had  an  inkling  of,  and  in  which  they 
knew  Cronksey  to  have  been  the  main  plotter;  also  that  Silas 
Smith,  the  Vice-President  and  Bamboozle  were  concerned  in 
the  same,  and  even  the  old  and  honored  General,  who  so  suc- 
cessfully closed  the  civil  war,  thus  cementing  the  union,  had 
allowed  himself  to  be  drawn  in,  not  understanding  its  whole 
import. 

They  had  discovered  that  Bamboozle  was  probably  one  of 
the  men  who  went  to  the  President  and  urged  him  to  withdraw 
from  the  investigation  the  night  before  he  was  shot;  also  that 
himself  and  Spideler  went  to  the  depot  in  a  carriage  on  that 
eventful  morning,  Spideler  alighting  and  placing  himself  w  here 
he  could  fasten  his  magnetic  eyes  upon  Jules,  watching  him  in- 
tently until  the  deed  was  done,  (it  was  even  rumored  that  he 
actually  fired  one  shot — the  fatal  one)  and  also  being  sure  that 
the  devoted  doctor,  who  afterwards  sent  Silas  Smith,  his  old- 
time  friend  of  the  western  claim,  the  cypher  despatches,  had 
taken  the  fallen  President  into  his  exclusive  charge,  thereby 
ensuring  that  the  murderous  bullet  should  remain  in  its  place 
until  the  patient  was  poisoned  past  recovery.  Then  at  last 
Spideler  walking  slowly  away,  when  out  of  sight  increasing 
his  pace  to  a  run,  soon  overtaking  the  carriage  with  Bamboozle 
inside,  which  had  gone  by  another  route,  Spideler  getting  in 
hastily  and  both  driving  rapidly  away. 

All  these  facts  had  been  found  out  in  detached  items,  requir- 
ing careful  joinings  to  produce  a  complete  mosaic,  a  connected 
chain  of  proof;  and  doing  the  best  they  could  the  work  had 
been  imperfect.     Links  of  evidence  were  missing,  blocks  gone 


WHO  WERE   TO  BLAME.  229 

out  of  the  mosaic,  so  that  they  failed  to  connect  the  certainty  of 
a  conspiracy  to  defraud,  perhaps  revolutionize  the  Government, 
vv^ith  the  agency  of  the  conspirators  in  instigating  Jules  Grie- 
veau  to  fire  that  shot  upon  the  President,  thereby  removing 
him  out  of  their  way.  That  there  was  a  connection  they  were 
sure,  and  the  sequel  proved  them  right — but  hunt  as  they  would, 
they  could  not  get  the  proof  of  direct  agency  necessary  to  con- 
vict the  real  villains,  and  the  trial  of  Jules  progressed  without 
interference  to  the  end. 

But  at  these  developments  the  two  men  were  in  a  state  of 
turbulent  excitement  impossible  to  describe,  and  harder  to  bear 
because  suppressed — amazement  and  grief  were  the  dominating 
emotions — evenly  balanced. 

Cronksey,  they  had  learned  long  before  this,  was  undoubt- 
edly capable  of  impelling  his  underlings  to  any  desperate  deed, 
in  the  accomplishment  of  an  end. 

As  for  General  Gascoigne — when  the  Chief  found  the  son 
of  his  old  time  friend  involved  in  what  he  had  come  to  feel  sure 
was  a  conspiracy — his  grief  and  chagrin  were  past  all  bounds; 
and  he  was  debarred  from  proceeding  one  step  in  his  purpose  to 
save  Jules  and  also  the  country  from  the  disgrace  of  executing 
an  insane  man,  unless  he  would  sacrifice  the  son  of  his  friend 
as  well  as  precipitate  the  country  in  anarchy,  riot,  and,  he  feared, 
irredeemable  ruin. 

vSlowly  and  cautiously  moved  the  two  disheartened  men  at 
this  juncture,  and  they  felt  themselves  treading  very  near  the 
hidden  fuse  of  a  gunpowder  mine,  which  might  at  any  moment 
explode,  perhaps  rending  the  Republic  to  its  foundations,  des- 
troying the  confidence  of  the  people  in  their  rulers,  overthrowing 
the  stability  of  the  Government;  and  they  concluded  their  duty 
demanded  the  sacrifice  of  a  wrecked  and  shattered  life,  rather 
than  excite  the  people  by  an  expose  of  their  discoveries  and 
suspicions. 

They  did  not  believe  that  either  Gen.  Gascoigne,  the  Vice- 
President  or  the  old  General  were  cognizant  of  the  villainy 
which  had  been  concocted  by  Smith  and  Cronksey,  and  carried 
out  by  Spideler  and  the  Doctor;  or  that  Gen.  Gascoigne  had 
known  of  the  relationship  between  Cronksey  and  his  family, 
or  that  his  nephew  was  to  be  their  intended  tool. 

Only  after  the  terrible  deed  was  done,  did  the  full  scope  of 
the  scheme  and  all  that  had  grown  out  of  it  dawn  upon  these 
entrapped  men;  and  then  dreading  results  which  might  follow 
a  denouement — of  excitement,  riot  and  bloodshed — they    had, 


230  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

with  one  accord,  without  consultation,  held  their  peace;  struck 
dumb  with  horror^  giving  no  sign  of  the  things  they  suspected, 
but  of  which  they  could  not  furnish  positive  proof. 

Gen.  Gascoigne,  and  the  man  who  had  by  an  accident,  as 
was  said,  become  the  President,  showed  in  their  haggard  faces 
how  deep  their  trouble  was. 

A  hint  of  the  suspicion  in  the  mind  of  the  Chief  of  the 
Secret  Service,  that  there  had  been  a  conspiracy  resulting  in  the 
removal  of  the  President,  had  escaped  into  the  air,  and  the 
same  talk  which  had  flown  wildly  the  first  day  or  two  after  the 
shooting,  before  Smith  had  gotten  entire  control  of  the  wires, 
began  again  to  be  whispered  about. 

The  defenders  of  Jules  were  threatening  to  attack  the  ad- 
ministration under  the  new  President  from  this  very  standpoint. 

The  associate  lawyers  of  the  prosecution  were  anxious  to 
evade  such  a  turn  in  the  case,  and  to  refute  the  theory  which 
was  creeping  into  the  defense  that  Jules,  even  though  insane, 
had  been  made  the  scapegoat  of  designing  villains,  who,  for 
some  cause,  had  conspired  to  remove  the  President. 

For  this  reason  they  wished  to  place  the  men  to  whom 
popular  suspicion  pointed,  on  the  witness  stand,  that  their  testi- 
mony might  show  this  theory  to  be  untrue. 

But  both  sides  found  it  well-nigh  impossible  to  get  any  of 
these  men  into  the  case;  especially  did  Cronksey,  Smith  and 
Spideler  shun  Washington;  in  fact  Cronksey  and  Smith  hied 
themselves  speedily  across  the  water  on  board  the  latter's  swift 
yacht.  Neither  the  famous  General  of  the  war,  or  Gerald 
A.  Johnson,  the  new  President,  or  Gen.  Gascoigne,  the 
uncl&  of  Jules,  all  of  whom  were  believed  to  know  something 
of  the  matter,  not  one  could  be  gotten  into  court.  An  unseen 
power  seemed  to  shield  them  from  the  ordeal.  Certain  news- 
paper men  were  also  supposed  to  be  well  informed^  but  refused 
to  know  anything.  This  was  noticeable  of  the  editor  of  a 
leading  stalwart  Washington  paper,  the  one  of  which  a  promi- 
nent^'Star-Router"  was  part  owner,  and  from  whom  the  admin- 
istration, about  this  time,  bought  his  interest,  thus  making,  as 
was  said,  an  "  administration  organ  "  of  the  paper,  dipping  lib- 
erally into  the  U.  S.  Treasury  for  the  purpose  of  furnishing 
this  generous  fund  wherewith  to  defend  himself  upon  his  ap- 
proaching tiial.  As  if  the  paoer  had  not  been  an  "administra- 
tion organ  "all  along,  both  through  the  previous  and  the  "acci- 
dental "  dynasty.     These  sort  of  editors  can  turn  their  coats  in  a 


lVI/0   WERE   TO  BLAME.  231 

twinkling  when  a  man  or  measure  is  dead^  either  figuratively 
or  actually. 

But,  however,  this  fine  handsome  editor,  remir.ding  some- 
what of  the  loved  and  honored  Logan,  was  put  upon  the  stand, 
and,  under  oath,  declared  he  knew  absolutely  Jiothing  of  the 
political  situation,  although  his  paper  had  «/  the  last ^  just  before 
the  change^  been  most  rabid  in  affirming  that  the  country  would 
be  better  off  if  some  sickness  or  an  accident  should  remove  him; 
but  while  he  lay  ill  played  an  old  trick  by  professing  extreme 
sympathy,  bitterly  denouncing  the  assassin,  but  no  one  was  de- 
ceived, and  now,  that  the  Martyred  President  was  dead,  and 
everything  had  changed,  this  editor  had  straddled  back  into  the 
stalwart  traces,  and  was  ready  to  curry  favor.  Although  the  files 
of  this  man's  paper  for  May  and  June  of  that  year  were  insisted 
upon  for  use  in  the  trial  of  Jules,  the  Judge  did  not  order  them 
brought  into  court,  and  this  editor  had  forgotten  everything^ 
yes  absolutely. 

Another  important  witness  was  about  this  time  spirited 
away.  In  the  upper  tier  of  cells  over  those  where  Grieveau 
was  confined,  was  quartered,  quite  comfortably  during  a  part  of 
the  same  period,  a  short,  thick-set  man,  unmistakably  a  seaman 
probably  a  captain,  by  the  cut  of  his  jib  you'd  say  he  was  Eng- 
lish. 

This  man's  case  was  on  the  same  calendar  for  trial  with  that 
of  Grieveau,  just  ahead  of  his  by  the  call  number;  as  was  the 
case  of  those  who  had  been  indicted  for  complicity  in  the  "  Star 
Route "  steal,  and  whose  case,  it  will  be  remembered,  was 
when  called  set  back  and  continued  indefinitely,  as  was  said,  to 
give  way  for  the  speedy  trial  of  Grieveau.  The  fact  being 
they  dared  not  bring  these  men  to  the  front  until  they  had  first 
disposed  of  Grieveau's  crazy,  rattling  tongue.  For  the  moment 
their  names  were  canvassed  in  the  public  prints,  Grieveau's 
quick  eye  and  acute  brain  was  sure  to  divine,  as  by  an  intuition, 
things  in  connection  with  this  matter  and  the  names  of  his 
friends  as  he  believed  them,  which  would  be  to  himself  no  less 
than  to  the  "  dear  people  "  a  revelation.  And  they  knew  too, 
full  well,  that  did  the  idea  once  take  hold  of  his  erratic  mind, 
that  a  fraud  had  been  perpetrated  upon  him,  or  upon  the  people, 
whom  he  loved  with  a  patriotic  fervor  few  can  understand — no 
power  short  of  death  could  have  closed  his  mouth  from  expos- 
ing all  he  knew  or  imagined;  for  if  there  is  one  thing  a  Grie- 
veau detests,  whether  crazy  or  sane,  that  thing  is  trickery^ 
deceit ^Jraiid;  this  hatred  is  a  part  of,  and  inseparable  from  the 


232  THE  STALIVAKTS;  OK, 

Grieveau  blood,  coming  down  from  Huguenot  forefather.  No, 
they  dared  not  bring  their  men  to  the  front  for  trial  while  Grie- 
veau lived.  They  did  not  know  how  much  he  knew,  but  they 
feared.  They  did  not  know  that  he  had  given  to  Gertrude  a 
list  in  his  own  hand-writing,  unmistakably  his  own,  of  the 
names  of  his  friends,  those  who  were  to  stand  by  him  in  his 
trouble,  wnth  the  injunction  that  she  go  to  them  herself.  "Tell 
them,"  said  he,  "  that  money  is  needed  for  my  defense,  that  they 
must  Jurnish  it^  or  77/  make  it  hot  for  them^  mind  now,  go 
yourself  tell  each  one  individually  what  I  say — consult  no  one^ 
but  go  yourself,  and  you'll  get  the  money."  But  she,  knowing 
his  insanity,  thinking  he  did  not  fully  realize  all  his  words  im- 
plied, did  consult  with  her  husband  and  others  supposed  to  be 
engaged  in  his  defense.  She  afterwards,  when  too  late^  felt  the 
force  of  his  injunction. 

Especially  when  after  her  brother  was  gone  some  of  the 
names  written  proved  to  be  those  of  the  leaders  in  this  "Fraud" 
who  were  put  on  trial  and  of  course  acquitted  everyone.  But 
theirs  were  not  the  only  names — Oh!  no!  There  were  others 
much  better  known,  higher  up  in  national  affairs,  much  higher, 
who  have  not  yet  come  before  a  human  tribunal — though  some 
of  those  most  noted,  and  most  surely  guilty,  have  been  called  to 
give  an  account  to  the  Judge  of  all  the  earth.  But  the  sea 
captain  whom  we  left  after  introduction  to  you  my  readers,  in 
his  comfortable  cell,  with  wine  and  cigars  liberally  provided, 
requires  a  little  attention.  He  is  quite  a  different  man  from 
Grieveau.  No  danger  that  he''ll  ever  go  crazy  over  any  re- 
ligious, fanatical  idea  of  Divine  inspiration  and  leading,  or  from 
fear  of  any  danger  to  the  body  politic  which  he  might  strive  to 
avert.  No,  there  is  no  sign  of  intellect  or  spirituality  about  him, 
but  just  a  good  heavy  liver,  honest  enough  perhaps  m  his  inten- 
tions, but  easily  managed  by  superiors.  A  man  to  whom  the  com- 
forts of  life,  including  good  wine  and  cigars,  ivasall\  articles  for 
which  Grieveau  had  no  use  whatever,  only  contempt.  Give 
him  pen,  ink  and  paper,  he  was  happy.  While  Grieveau  could 
not,  crazy  as  he  was,  be  bought  at  any  price — this  man  would 
sell  himself  for  a  mess  of  pottage.  However,  he  had  come  to 
know  a  great  deal  about  the  corruption  in  the  Naval  service, 
had  himself  pocketed  a  big  steal.  What  he  knew  of  some 
other  things  has  never  transpired,  for  while  Grieveau  was  on 
trial  securely  guarded  n'ght  and  day,  this  man  proved  (How) 
easily  the  piison  (g:-ite)  may  be  lifted  by  slack  officials  when  they 
are  so  inclined.     As  easilv  and  in  a  similar  manner  to  the  case  of 


WHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  233 

one  of  our  Chicago  "  boodlers,"  who  only  went  home  by  ap- 
pointment to  meet  the  opposing  attorney,  in  company  with  an 
official,  to  smack  his  wife  and  take  a  bath — but  actually  had  the 
impudence  when  given  every  opportunity  to  go  clear  away  to 
Canada,  without  thanking  or  saying  by  your  leave  to  the  (Mat) 
over  which  he  walked  out;  or  even  looking  back  at  the  people's 
custodian  who  stood  (Grinn)ing  behind  the  door.  These  same 
honest  and  conscientious  officials  had  to  make  themselves  very 
zealous  for  the  people  afterwards  to  set  themselves  right,  and 
they  found  a  case  near  at  hand  upon  which  to  exercise  their 
energy,  for  other  criminals  were  to  be  tried,  and  the  people  had 
been,  by  a  suborned  press,  worked  up  to  the  desired  state  of  wrath 
— as  no  money  was  at  stake — and  they  were  free  to  act  according 
to  the  demands  of  popular  clamor — which  they  did. 

However,  in  the  trial  we  are  now  considering — one  J.  G. 
Bamboozle,  a  sly  and  experienced  old  demagogue,  was  at  last 
put  upon  the  stand — evidently  as  the  safest  spokesman  for  the 
crowd,  and  who  contrived  to  solve  the  problem  of  how  not  to 
tell  the  truth.  To  be  sure,  he  was  obliged  to  contradict  him- 
self point  blank,  as  to  the  dispatches  he  had  sent  to  Europe  the 
day  after  the  President  was  shot;  saying,  as  will  be  remem- 
bered, that  "  the  deed  was  the  sole  work,  without  doubt,  of  a 
crazy  man,"  while  he  now  testified  him  to  be  a  perfectly  sane 
villain,  wholly  responsible. 

But  then  it  was  no  worse  perjury  than  was  committed  by  a 
celebrated  Chicago  lawyer  and  popular  Republican  orator,  who 
was  never  known  to  be  dashed  by  so  small  a  thing  as  a  black 
lie,     *     *     * 

As  fo^  the  new  President,  he  would  have  forfeited  his  life, 
rather  than  face  Lucille  in  that  court  room,  and  have  her  know 
the  real  connection  between  himself  and  the  trouble  poor  Jules 
was  in.  And  then,  his  appearance  before  her  would  have  re- 
^-ealed  his  changed  name,  and  have  thrown  greater  suspicion 
upon  him,  and  he  feared  he  had  already  more  than  he  could 
successfully  battle  with.  Fortunately  just  at  this  juncture 
he  was  taken  suddenly  ill,  and  before  he  recovered  it  had  been 
argued  and  decided  that  an  attachment  against  a  President  of 
the  U.  S.,  bringing  him  into  a  Court  to  testify  against  his 
will,  could  not  hold.  Both  sides  had  been  insisting  upon  the 
President's  appearance,  but  now  the  effort  was  abandoned,  and 
thus  it  happened  that  the  new  President  sent  his  elegant,  black- 
edged  mourning  letter  with  excuse  and  regret,  which  was  ac- 
cepted strangely  enough,  in  lieu  of  his  important  testimony,  and 


234  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

he  was  not  again  asked  into  Court^  or  urged  to  the  unpleasant 
predicament  of  facing  either  Lucille,  or  crazy  Jules;  who  it 
afterwards  came  to  light,  had  expected  great  things, — sure  re- 
lief and  a  rescuing  hand  from  ttie  new,  stalwart  President. 
But  the  dignified  and  elegant  black-edged  note,  read  from  the 
witness  stand,  was  the  only  message  ever  received  by  the  poor, 
trusting  tool,  from  '-'-hisjriend^  the  President.'''     *     *     * 

The  Doctor  who  had  attended  the  dead  President,  he  who 
had  sent  the  cypher  dispatches,  was  not  allowed  to  escape  as 
easily,  but  was  brought  into  court,  and  so  painfully  terrorized 
did  he  appear  under  oath,  that  it  was  remarked,  "one  would 
have  thought  the  Doctor  himself  was  on  trial  for  the  murder  of 
the  President." 

He  turned  out  to  be  the  old-time  "chum"  who  had  been  on 
the  western  "claim"  with  Silas  Smith  and  perhaps  a  greater 
villain  than  even  he — the  man  they  called  "Doc." 

As  the  trial  progressed,,  it  became  more  and  more  apparent 
that  Jules  Grieveau  was  doomed;  that  the  prosecution — and 
this  meant  the  administration — were  determined  to  execute  the 
man  whether  sane  or  insane,  and  were  evidently  acting  upon 
the  theory  that  dead  men  tell  no  tales.  The  district  attorney 
saying  in  one  of  his  many  side  speeches  to  the  jury  i^it  will  be 
rerne^nbered  they  were  seated  conveniently  near  the  prosecuting 
counsel  and  the  paid  experts')  after  Jules'  friends  had  proved 
his  insanity,  and  been  denied  by  the  court  the  introduction  of 
their  nine  best  witnesses^  reserved  for  sur-rebuttal  of  the  ex- 
pert testimony — "Well,  if  he  is  a  crank,  then  we  will  hang  him 
for  being  a  crank ;  a  crank  has  no  business  to  live^     *     *     * 

The  whole  trial  from  beginning  to  ending  was  a  master- 
piece of  legal  chicanery  ;  but  no  one  who  watched  its  workings, 
ever  believed  the  pompous,  strutting  little  district  attorney,  or 
even  his  able  associates,  capable  of  the  work  as  a  connected, 
finished  whole. 

The  prosecution — both  Judge,  jury,  witnesses  and  lawyers — 
were  too  palpably  under  the  direction  of  an  indomitable  con- 
trolling brain;  more  than  one  person  suspected,  indeed  was  con- 
vinced  long  before  the  trial  ended,  that  Cronksey,  the  shrewd, 
unscrupulous  lawyer  and  political  schemer,  was  that  invincible 
master-mind.  And  the  sequel  to  the  whole  business,  thesham 
trial,  at  last,  of  those  concerned  in  the  great  frauds,  which  was 
conducted  ostensibly  by  the  same  pompous  district  attorney, 
assisted  by  the  lawyer  relative  of  the  Doctor,  who  sent  the 
cipher  dispatches  from  the  bedside  of  the  dving  President;  and 


IVNO  WERE   TO  BLAME.  235 

the  final  acquittal  of  every  one;  a  consummation,  completing 
the  achievement  undertaken  by  the  same  unconquered  will,  in 
the  end  confirmed  that  suspicion. 

The  administration,  the  prosecuting  lawyers,  the  judge,  the 
witnesses,  poor  Jules  himself,  were  all,  no  less  than  those  in- 
veigled into  complicity  with  the  great  frauds,  but  puppets  in  the 
show,  revolving  as  the  master  pulled  the  wire — a  long  time 
elapsed  before  the  showman  was  himself  shown.  Only  one 
other  legal  mind  and  political  schemer  in  all  the  land  could  have 
matched,  conquered  and  forced  the  black-hearted  pirate  sooner 
to  unfurl  his  true  colors  before  the  world;  and  by  fraud  and 
trickery  he  was  excluded  from  the  case, /br  the  endzvas  not  yet^ 

After  all  the  tedious,  sometimes  pitiful  scenes  of  one  of  the 
mosc  remarkable  criminal  trials  of  modern  times,  it  was  now 
drawing  to  a  close. 

The  prosecution  had  bullied  the  crazy  prisoner,  his  witnesses 
and  relatives;  the  Judge  had  been  carefully  watched,  lest  he 
might  give  some  ruling  in  favor  of  the  defense;  doubtful 
points  and  exceptions  referred  to,  and  decided  from  day  to  day 
by  the  judges  who  were  to  constitute  the  Court  in  banc,  upon 
appeal  for  new  trial;  thus  unjustly  and  unlawfully  cutting  off 
the  prisoner's  last  resort. 

The  jury  besides  being  manipulated  in  low  spoken  "asides" 
from  the  prosecuting  attorney,  intimidated  by  an  ever  present 
mob  admitted  to  the  court  room  on  the  ^h-ed  passes''''  furnished 
by  the  prosecution  to  the  administration  employees,  and  various 
well  known  means,  had  been  terrorized  by  the  Masonic  signs 
of  warning  and  exhortation  transmitted,  from  time  to  time^ 
through  one  of  the  lawyers  of  the  prosecution,  himself  a  Mason 
as  was  also  the  foreman,  and  at  least  two  other  jurymen,  all 
belonging  to  the  same  lodge  with  the  martyred  President,  and 
bound  by  their  oath  to  avenge  his  death.  The  fact  that  both 
the  father  and  grandfather  of  Grieveau  were  Master  Masons,, 
might  have  helped  his  case,  had  this  idea  been  pushed,  but  the 
brother-in-law  lawyer  of  the  defense,  not  being  himself  a  Mason,, 
refused  to  consider  the  importance  of  this  point. 

And  further:  a  newspaper  full  of  distorted,  rabid  utterances 
and  unmerciful  threats  towards  the  prisoner,  and  even  the  jury, 
should  they  fail  to  convict,  had  been  found  in  their  room  at  the 
hotel  where  they  were  secluded,  scribbled  round  with  the  written 
names  of  every  juryman  on  the  panel,  in  their  own  hand-writ- 
ing, indicating  that  they  had  read  and  digested  its  contents;  cer- 
tainly increasing  their  prejudice  and   fear,   rendering  their  ver- 


236  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

diet,  whatever  it  might  be,  illegal.  The  tide  was  setting  strong 
against  him;  but  one  thing  more  remained  to  be  done  in  poor 
Jules'  behalf,  a  desperate  alternative,  so  reckoned  in  all  criminal 
practice,  namely,  putting  on  the  stand  in  his  own  defense,  the 
crazy  prisoner. 

His  friends  considered  him  so  plainly  insane  upon  the  sub- 
ject of  "the  removal"  as  he  called  it,  always  insisting  that  "Deity" 
inspired  him  to  the  deed,  and  that  "Deity"  was  well  pleased 
with  the  result;  they  reasoned  it  could  uot  hurt  his  case  to  let 
the  jury  see  his  insanity  just  as  it  was,  believing  they  would 
honestly  bring  in  a  verdict  according  to  their  convictions. 

And  Jules  Grieveau  was  placed  upon  the  stand  under  oath 
to  tell  the  story  in  his  own  way;  which  he  did,  relating  it  hon- 
estly and  pitifully. 

The  counsel  selected  for  the  work  of  coss-examination  be- 
ing confined  in  his  hotel  undergoing  a  three  days'  course  of 
opium  and  whiskey,  in  order  to  fit  him  for  the  exploit,  and  when 
brought  up  to  the  desired  pitch  of  unfeeling  blaguardism  and 
debauchery,  this  oldest,  wickedest,  vilest  man  of  all  the  lawyers 
of  the  prosecution,  was  put  to  the  task  of  trying  to  force  other 
than  the  truth  from  the  prisoner. 

Any  but  a  heart  of  stone  must  have  been  moved  to  hear  crazy 
Jules  Grieveau  striving  to  have  the  court  and  jury  understand 
"how  it  happened." 

"You  see,  I  noticed  Bamboozle  and  the  President  going  about 
together,  always  talking  in  a  low  tone,  but  could  sometimes 
catch  a  word,  and  would  hear  him  urging  the  President  to  crush 
the  Stalwarts^  and  I  knew  they  wouldn't  give  in  and  we  should 
have  another  civil  war,  sure.  Finally  it  came  to  me  that  the 
Lord  wanted  me  to  'reir^ove'  the  President  and  prevent  it." 

Why  he  should  not  "remove"  the  man  who  was  advising  the 
victim  contrary  to  the  instructions  oi  those  who  delegated  him, 
as  his  coadjutors  afterwards  hinted,  declaring  "he  had  wrecked 
a  President  in  furtherance  of  his  own  two-faced,  treacherous 
selfishness,"  or  why  he  was  not  "inspired  to  remove"  the  chief 
contestants  on  the  other  side  of  the  quarrel,  and  thus,  by  either 
course  prevent  a  war,  is  a  mystery  never  solved  in  the  mind  of 
any  but  those  who  instigated  the  deed;  they  knowing  full  well 
that  an  entire  change  of  administration  was  needed  as  their 
ojily  safety. 

Certain  it  is,  that  whatever  influenced  Jules  Grieveau,  "malice 
prepence"  was  not  the  motive,  for  he  constantly  averred  "The 
President  never  did  me  any    harm,    he    was    a    fine    man,    and 


WHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  2oT 

a  good  fellow,  I  guess;  but  the  Deity  put  such  a  grinding  pres- 
sure upon  me,  I  had  tojirethat  shot^  if  I  had  been  torn  in  pieces 
the  next  minute." 

And  then  to  hear  the  wily  lawyer  try  to  wring  from  those 
pale,  thin  lips,  some  expression  of  remorse  for  the  deed,  some 
word  that  would  prove  his  reiteration  of  "The  Deity  and  me" 
to  be  but  an  afterthought,  and  that  he  was  only  shamming. 

But  for  two  days  Jules  Grieveau  sat  under  the  most  per- 
sistent, scathing,  cruel  cross-examination  any  shattered  creature 
was  ever  subjected  to — his  answers,  no  less  than  his  distorted, 
blighted,  partially  paralyzed  features,  expressing  only  honesty  of 
purpose  to  "Tell  the  truth  no  matter  who  got  hurt,"  as  he  said 
again  and  again. 

Sometimes  under  w^hat  was  to  his  sensitive  organization,  a 
real  torture^  his  lips  would  quiver,  and  his  face  blanch  and  twitch 
convulsively,  as  he  strove  to  remember  the  minutiae  of  the  dread- 
ful thoughts  and  feelings  which  only  the  insane  ever  experience, 
and  which  had  haunted  him  night  and  day  for  weeks  before  the 
final  climax  of  the  deed  he  felt  impelled  to  do,  had  given  him 
rest  and  peace.  As  he  told  how  he  prayed  night  and  day  that 
the  '•'Dlety  would  let  him  ^^,"  because  he  ^'-didrCt  want  to  do  it^'' 
how  once  when  he  thought  he  had  a  message  from  Deity  the 
night  before  to  do  the  deed  that  very  fjtorning^  and  hearing  the 
President  was  to  take  the  train,  he  went  to  the  depot,  the  fatal 
firearm  ready,  but  the  sight  of  the  wife  hanging  on  her  hus- 
band's arm,  deterred  him  from  executing  the  Divine  com- 
mand, for  Jules  Grieveau  had  a  tender  heart.  And  then 
how  for  two  weeks  more  he  prayed  and  prayed  that  "the 
Deity  would  let  him  off."  Poor  fellow,  he  did  not  understand 
that  the  time  was  not  yet  ripe^  that  he  must  wait  until  other 
minds  consummated  their  desires,  and  laying  hold  of  his  own 
crazy  brain,  should  hypnotize  him  in  a  way  to  i?npel  him  to  the 
finalissue;  that  he  must  wait  until  Cronksey  was  ready,  and  the 
doctor  in  his  place,  and  Spideler  stationed  where  his  magnetic 
eyes  could  give  the  required  courage,  could  nerve  the  trembling 
arm ;  no,  Jules  Grieveau  did  not  understand  all  this,  or  the  work- 
ings of  his  own  insane  imaginings.  He  only  knew  what  he 
believed^  what  he  felt^  what  he  suffered. 

But  the  most  expert  lawyer  among  them  all,  perhaps  in  the 
country,  failed  to  mix  him  up  in  the  slightest  upon  his  testimony; 
as  this  lawyer  stated  the  evening  after  he  closed  his  cross-ex- 
amination,"to  an  acquaintance,  the  editor  of  several  small,  newsy, 
daily  papers:  "I  never  got  hold   of  such  a  witness,  I  could  not 


238  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

shake  him  in  the  least,  his  delusion  Is  so  strongs  he  thinks  the 
Deity  commanded  him  to  do  it,  I  am  certain."  Though  this 
was  afterwards  denied  when  it  might  have  saved  Jules  Grie- 
veau's  life. 

And  thus  right  through,  from  the  beginning  to  the  end,  from 
the  first  examination  of  the  prisoner  in  his  cell  by  the  Chief  of 
the  Secret  Service,  the  night  after  the  shot  was  fired,  and  by 
the  Government  Insane  Asylum  Superintendent,  through  all 
the  subtle  means  used  by  the.  District  Attorney  and  the  Judge 
to  entrap  him,  through  all  the  surprises  sprung  upon  him  during 
his  trial  and  on  the  w^itness  stand,  in  his  speech  to  the  jury,  all 
through,  his  dominating  idea  w^as  "the  Deity  and  me,  w^e  did  it, 
and  it's  all  right,"  nothing  could  dislodge  him  from  this  posi- 
tion, and  herein  was  his  insanity. 

But  all  the  efforts  made  in  his  behalf,  even  the  truth  itself, 
when  proven^  availed  nothing,  it  was  fore-ordalned  the  man 
should  die. 

Certain  of  his  insanity,  and  that  the  jury  had  recognized  the 
fact,  the  friends  of  Jules  were  altogether  unprepared  for  the 
result  which  followed  the  close  of  his  trial.  Confident  of  the 
ending,  when  the  jury,  led  by  their  foreman,  filed  into  that  dingy, 
shabby,  old  court  room  on  that  dark,  stormy  day  in  midwinter, 
just  at  the  dusk  of  evening,  every  friend  who  had  stood  by  him 
on  to  the  last,  Lucille,  Gertrude,  Aunt  Debby,  Uncle  Tut,  even 
the  brother-in-law  who  had  defended  him  as  best  he  could,  as- 
sisted at  the  last  by  a  lawyer,  versed  in  criminal  practice,  who 
had  volunteered  for  the  defense;  (or  prosecution,  which  w^as  it?) 
even  Jules  himself  expecting,  if  he  could  be  said  really  to  ex- 
pect anything,  an  acquittal. 

When  amid  breathless  suspense  the  foreman  solemnly  an- 
nounced the  verdict  of  "  Gullty^^  poor  Jules,  who  had  trusted 
in  the  judge  and  jury — they  seeming  kindly  enough  disposed 
towards  him  during  the  trial — almost  as  implicitly  as  he  did  in 
^'  Deity,"  when  he  understood,  though  but  partially,  what  had 
happened,  and  felt  that  they  were  against  him,  were  not  now 
friendly  to  him — stared  vacantly  at  first,  turning  from  one  to 
another  in  a  dazed  sort  of  way;  as  though  amazed  beyond  the 
power  of  speech,  as  a  devout  believer  might,  who  getting  a 
glimpse  of  Heaven,  should  find  there  no  God. 

And  then,  as  the  idea  came  to  his  darkened  brain  more 
clearly,  of  what  they  had  done,  that  they  had  played  him  false, 
gone  back  on  him  as  he  reckoned  it,  that  they  did  not  mean  to 
let  him  go,  but  to  send  him  again  to  his  prison-cell,  his  rapidly 


WHO   WERE   TO  BLAME.  '         239 

moving  eyes  glanced  fiercely  upon  them,  in  the  dim,  dusky 
light  of  the  now  fast  waning  day;  and  as  the  thought  of  the  in- 
justice of  the  verdict  grew^  stronger  in  his  mind,  he  found  speech, 
and  poured  out  his  wrath  upon  all  who  were  as  he  thought  con- 
cerned in  the  wrong.  The  judge,  jury,  witnesses,  lawyers,  the 
administration,  even  the  new  President,  calling  Heaven  and 
Earth  to  witness  that  the  "  Deity  "  would  punish  them  for  that 
verdict,  punish  each  one,  and  strangely  enough  the  curse  pro- 
nounced that  day,  by  crazy  Jules  Grieveau,  came  true  every 
word — and  that  ere  long. 

As  the  guards  roughly  hurried  him  exhausted  away,  Lucille, 

Gertrude   and  Aunt  Debby  followed,  out   to  the  prison-van 

with  a  look  of  death  on  their  faces. 

No  frenzied  shrieks,  or  hysterical  sobs  and  tears,  betrayed 
that  the  glittering  steel  had  entered  the  heart — the  blow  had 
been  too  sudden,  sharp  and  deep,  for  noisy  demonstration — but 
the  ashy  greyness  of  the  corpse-like  visage,  the  deadened  eye, 
the  thin  drawn  lips,  and  the  unsteady  gait,  marked  the  palsy  of 
despair  within. 

Extraordinary  measures  had  been  taken  for  the  protection 
of  the  prisoner  during  what  every  one  felt  would  be  great 
danger  when  the  climax  came,  however  the  verdict  might  be; 
but  after  all,  the  poor  fellow's  real  protection  consisted  in  the 
silent  company  of  those  devoted  women.  Everyone  knew  of 
their  steadfast  love  which  nothing  could  intimidate,  and  all  re- 
spected them  for  it,  and  they  said,  "  If  he  were  our  brother  or 
kin  we'd  stand  by  him,  too,  notwithstanding  all." 

When  it  had  become  known  that  a  verdict  was  soon  to  be 
brought  in,  a  vast  crowd  gathered  about  the  Court-House 
square,  and  when  the  news  flew  from  mouth  to  mouth,  that  the 
foreman  had  announced  a  verclict  of  "  Guity^'*  every  element 
of  fierce  revenge,  every  desperado,  every  vagabond,  black  or 
white,  in  all  the  city  came  rushing  there  until  a  sea  of  heads 
met  the  eye  from  the  broad  steps. 

A  seething  mass  of  human  beings,  now  muttering  low, 
threatening,  menacing,  and  again  cursing  loud  and  deep,  until 
the  din  became  a  roar  of  fury.  Anew  were  the  dreadful  suffer- 
ings of  the  martyred  president  remembered,  and  an  eager  thirst 
for  the  blood  of  him,  whom  they  had  been  taught  to  believe 
and  whom  the  verdict  now  declared  to  be  his  assassin,  possessed 
them. 

But  when  the  rumor  gained  credence,  that  his  sister  Ger- 
trude, and  Lucille,  the  sister  of  his  dead  mother   were  to  march 


240  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

with  him  to  the  van  sharing  his  danger,  every  imprecation  was 
stilled,  and  as  the  party  issued  from  the  lower  entrance  under 
the  main  portico,  with  the  little  man  feebly  cowering  in  their 
midst,  a  hush  of  awe  pervaded  the  vast  crowd  to  its  utmost 
limit. 

Slowly,  with  measured  tread,  the  three  devoted  women  and 
Uncle  Tut,  marched  two  on  either  side  of  the  guards  down  the 
long  passage  cleared  by  the  police.  Quickly  was  the  transit 
made,  for  such  an  unnatural  calm  could  not  last.  As  the 
women  parted  with  Jules  at  the  door  of  the  van,  Lucille  and 
Gertrude  lost  their  self-possession  at  the  thought  of  the  crazy 
boy  a  condemned  murderer,  and  throwing  their  arms  around 
him,  tried  to  hold  him  back — "  Oh!  Jules,  Jules,"  they  cried, 
"  we  won't  forsake  you,  we'll  do  all  we  can  to  save  you  yet." 

Almost  roughly  he  shook  them  off.  "I  don't  want  any 
women  folks  crying  around  me,  "he  said.  "  You  needn't  worry 
about  me,  I'm  all  right,  you'd  better  go  back  and  look  after 
that  judge  and  jury,  the  Deity's  down  on  them,  ha!  ha!  ha!" 

And  as  the  prison-van  rattled  away  surrounded  by  its 
mounted  guard,  the  colored  footman  at  the  door,  poor  Jules' 
horrid  crazy  laugh  died  on  the  chilly  air. 

The  crowd  quietly  dispersed,  a  few  of  the  more  sympathetic 
ones  gathering  around  the  now  well-nigh  fainting  women,  as- 
sisting them  kindly  to  their  rooms  near  by ;  and  soon  in  the 
grey  dusk  of  that  bleak  winter  evening,  no  one  could  be  found 
near  the  late  scene  of  so  much  excitement,  unless  some  belated 
unfortunate,  hurrying  past  against  the  blinding  storm  which 
had  been  coming  on  all  day  and  now  increased  with  vicious 
fury,  as  though  the  elements,  too,  were  filled  with  unrelenting 
wrath. 

As  the  sleety  wind  came  down  from  the  cold  North,  sough- 
ing through  the  trees  about  the  square,  it  seemed  that  the 
demons  of  the  air  were  let  loose  among  their  branches,  and  with 
long  skeleton  arms  were  in  wierd  frenzy  reaching  out  seeking 
to  find  their  escaped  victim. 


WHO  WERE   TO  BLAME.  241 


CHAPTER  XXXII 


After  the  first  shock  of  the  adverse  verdict  had  passed,  the 
friends  of  Jules  Grieveau  set  themselves  about  contriving  some 
way  to  save  him,  if  possible,  even  now. 

A  new  trial  was  asked  for  and  elaborate  arguments  pre- 
pared on  the  motion,  but,  of  course,  the  prayer  of  the  defense 
was  refused. 

Then  came  efforts  for  the  commutation  of  sentence  of  hang- 
ing, to  life  imprisonment,  or  a  stay  of  sentence  until  congress 
convened  and  a  law  might  be  passed,  establishing  an  asylum  for 
the  safe  custody  of  insane  criminals;  a  needed  institution  as  has 
been  often  proved. 

In  pursuance  of  this  end,  a  petition  to  the  President  was 
prepared,  and  signed  by  many  of  the  medical  profession,  a  ma- 
jority being  intensely  disgusted  at  the  course  of  certain  x\sylum 
Superintendents,  subpcenoed  by  the  government,  also  lawyers 
who  had  watched  the  case  without  prejudice,  and  knew  Jules 
had  not  been  granted  a  fair  trial;  these  with  many  ministers, 
collegiate  men  and  other  people,  more  or  less  prominent,  both 
men  and  women,  sent  in  their  names  to  be  afiixed  to  the  peti- 
tion, until  the  number  reached  up  into  the  thousands.  As  a  part 
of  this  effort,  Gertrude,  by  the  advice  of  friends,  tried  to  arouse 
the  sympathy  of  the  people,  herself  appearing  before  them, 
stating  his  case  truthfully  and  asking  their  signatures.  She  gave 
several  lectures  which  were  well  received,  but  no  impression  was 
made  upon  the  masses,  although  names  were  secured  sufiicient 
to  have  turned  the  scale  in  an  ordinary  case;  but  in  this,  only  an 
overwhelming,  spontaneous,  popular  demonstration  would  avail. 
And  here,  as  in  every  attempted  benefit  for  Jules  Grieveau,  his 
friends  were  checkmated  by  some  unseen,  mysterious  power, 
working  mainly  through  the  various  news  channels  which  cen- 
tered in  Washington,  and  throwing  out  at  every  pulsation  of 
the  great  throbing  citadel,  a  stream  of  vitiated  and  corrupted 
influences  and  perverted  facts,  blackening  the  thought,  corroding 
the  sympathy,  paralyzing  the  will  of  the  people  throughout  the 
land. 

The  same  power  which  had  been   discovered  manipulating 

16 


^42  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

the  stocks  in  Wall  Street  as  the  dying  President  sank  down  in 
utter  weakness,  or  rallied  with  renewing  strength,  using  his 
martrydom  for  their  gain,  during  weary  weeks  and  months  of 
suffering  seldom  equaled,  heroically  born  until  death's  reprieve. 

The  same  power  which  planned  the  "removal"^  of  the  dead 
President,  and  also  the  trial  of  Jules  Grieveau,  the  "scape-goat" 
and  reputed  assassin,  carrying  it  through  to  the  desired  end  of 
conviction  and  proposed  execution. 

The  same  power  which  contrived  the  escape  of  at  least  one, 
and  afterwards  planned  the  trial  of  the  others  interested  in  the 
success  of  the  great  frauds,  and  carried  the7n  safely  through  to 
a  virtual  acquittal  of  every  one. 

And  with  this  influence,  this  power,  whatever  it' was,  their 
weakness  was  unable  to  cope,  in  staying  the  current  or  turning 
the  tide  so  fiercely  setting  against  the  doomed  man. 

With  despairing  sadness,  the  friends  of  Jules  Grieveau  at 
last  made  up  their  minds  that,  as  he  expressed  it,  *'he  must  go." 

They  had  expended  every  energy,  done  the  utmost  anxious 
hearts  could  devise,  made  all  effort  their  feeble  means  would 
allow,  had  put  in  a  brave  fight  for  his  defense  against  desperate 
odds — naught  availing. 

Nothing  remained  but  the  heart-rending  task  of  preparing 
themselves  and  him  for  the  horrible  ordeal  of  a  barbarous  ex- 
ecution. 

A  punishment  under  any  circumstance,  which  is  a  disgrace 
to  civilization;  but  when,  as  in  this  case,  visited  upon  a  deluded 
man  believing  in  his  soul,  that  God  and  his  country  received 
good  service,  when  that  fatal  shot  was  fired ;  deluded  because 
his  mal-formed  and  diseased  brain  gave  only  the  ability  of  draw- 
ing so  warped,  crooked  and  crazy  a  conclusion  from  the  premises; 
then  such  an  execution  is  worthy  the  intelligence  of  a  hundred 
years  ago,  when  even  in  proud  England,  the  naked  skeletons 
were  left  swinging  in  the  breeze  from  the  road  side  gibbets,  to 
be  removed  as  the  judges  went  their  yearly  rounds,  making 
room  for  the  newly  sentenced  victims  of  three-score  petty  crimes, 
punishable  with  death. 

As  for  Jules,  it  was  still  in  his  mind  only  the  "Deity  and  me" 
who  were  concerned  in  the  matter,  and  having  no  compunc- 
tions of  conscience,  he  was  fully  reconciled  to  his  fate,  even  im- 
patient of  delay  in  reaching  what  he  considered  his  just  and 
sure  reward  for  obedience  to  the  Divine  command,  and  which 
he  had  come  to  believe  attainable  only  as  he  should  pass  over 
the  river  of  death.    "Because  of  the  wicked  perversity  of  men 


WHO   WERE   TO  BLAME.  248 

who  should  have  been  instruments  in  the  hands  of  the  Lord  for 
my  release,  they  refusing,"  said  he,  "I  must  suffer,  but  the  Lord 
will  punish  them,  every  one,  and  prove  to  the  world  sooner  or 
later,  that  I  am  '•God's  man^  called  to  execute  His  will,  and  the 
men  who  stand  by  and  see  this  wrong  done  to  me,  shall  be  cursed 
from  Heaven  ;"  woe  unto  him  through  whom  the  offense  cometh, 
saith  Holy  Writ,  "I  am  ready  to  go  in  five  minutes,  but  I  dread 
the  retribution  of  the  Deity  on  the  American  people.  Make 
no  mistake;  it  is  not  Grieveau  who  is  in  trouble,  it  is  the  people 
of  the  United  States  who  are  on  the  brink  of  a  crime.  I  was 
inspired  by  Deity  to  remove  the  President,  Grieveau,  the  patriot, 
is  all  right;  but  those  who  hang  him  will  wish  they  had  never 
been  born."  He  continued  to  the  last  to  resent  the  theory  that 
he  was  insane;  and  the  success  the  man  who  now  installed 
himself  as  his  confessor  had  in  winning  his  confidence,  was 
due  to  the  fact  that  he  humored  his  whim  in  this  regard. 

On  the  Tuesday  night  before  the  execution,  this  confessor 
has  reported  that  Grieveau  pointed  to  a  .  verse  he  had  been 
reading,  "Except  ye  be  converted  and  become  as  little  children, 
ye  shall  not  enter  the  kingdom  of  Heaven."  "And,"  added  the 
confessor,  "Grieveau  was  the  happiest  man  last  night,  positively 
that  I  ever  saw."  He  said,  "He  was  counting  the  hours  until  he 
was  to  die  and  be  done  with  mundane  things."  During  the 
same  conversation  he  said,  "Confessor,  you  are  going  with  me 
to  the  scaffold  and  you'll  stand  by  me  there,  and  I  shall  look  up 
to  where  God  is  waiting  for  me,  reaching  out  His  hand  to  me, 
and  when  the  time  comes,  I  think  I  shall  be  so  near  to  God  that 
when  I  let  go  of  your  hand  I  shall  be  able  to  take  hold  of  His." 
Oh  no!  it  was  not  Grieveau  who  was  in  trouble  now,  whatever 
he  may  have  suffered  during  his  sad,  earthly  life. 

To  his  sister,  for  whom  he  retained  a  special  affection,  he 
said  at  their  final  interveiw,  "  Yes  indeed,  I'll  be  glad  to  leave 
this  place,  no  matter  how;  Paradise's  a  great  improvement  on 
this  world.  There's  nothing  here  that  /  want.''''  And  as  she 
alluded  to  the  probable  meeting  with  his  mother  in  Heaven,  he 
answered,  "  Yes,  I'll  be  glad  to  see  her  when  I  get  there.  If 
she  had  lived  I  shouldn't  have  had  so  much  trouble.  I  don't 
remember  much  about  her,  but  I'll  be  glad  to  make  her  acquaint- 
ance.    I  guesb  she'll  be  glad  to  see  me,  too — "  half  crying. 

Jules'  indifference  did  much  to  reconcile  his  friends  to  the 
inevitable;  as  they  pondered  over  his  sad,  unfruitful  life,  they 
ceased  to  wonder  that  he  should  anticipate  with  eagerness  al- 
most any  change.     *     *     * 


244  7 HE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

The  terrible  tragedy  through  which  they  were  passing  had 
for  the  time  being  absorbed  Lucille's  every  thought  and  feeHng, 
and  she  had  scarcely  wondered  during  the  first  days  of  intense 
excitement  and  dismay  following  the  shooting  of  the  President, 
why  Henry  had  not  returned,  or  at  least  written  an  explanation 
of  his  strange  conduct.  Surely  he  had  given  the  proof  of  a 
true  and  passionate  love  which  neither  separation  or  time  could 
quench,  and  this  complete  assurance  comforted  Lucille  and 
supported  her  through  daj^s,  weeks,  months  of  grievous  trial; 
it  was  a  boon  beyond  estimation  she  thought,  the  knowledge 
that  Henry  had  been,  in  his  heart,  true  to  his  love  for  her,  even 
though  she  never  saw  him  more. 

But  as  the  weeks  passed  into  months  and  she  heard  nothing 
from  him,  after  the  suffering  and  death  of  the  President,  after 
the  trial,  conviction  and  sentence  of  Jules,  now  the  ordeal  of 
his  execution  and  the  ignominy  unavoidably  endured  and  shared 
with  him  by  his  relatives,  confronted  them;  partially  recovering 
from  the  shock  of  the  unjust  verdict,  and  beginning  to  revolve 
in  her  mind  the  feasability  of  plans  whereby  to  save  him  if  pos- 
sible, her  thoughts  turned  anew  to  Henry,  and  she  could  not 
understand  how  affection  which  she  believed  equal  to  her  own, 
could  be  estranged  by  any  calamity  or  why  he  had  not  come 
forward  as  a  staunch-hearted  man,  helping  her,  even  though 
ever  so  little. 

And  when  one  and  another  not  as  near  in  friendship  offered 
their  sympathy  and  assistance — for  there  are  some  whom  the 
wildest  storm  will  fail  to  unsettle — then,  steadfast,  patient  Lu- 
cille began  to  waver  in  her  trust,  and  indignation  filled  her  heart, 
that  a  man  for  whom  she  had  suffered  so  much,  and  whose  love 
had  after  long  years  again  asserted  itself,  should  keep  aloof 
from  her  when  in  trouble;  because,  as  she  concluded,  he  lacked 
the  courage  to  stand  by  her  even  against  the  world. 

At  last  poor  Lucille  drank  the  dregs  of  her  bitter  portion ; 
after  all  those  years  of  self-sacrifice  to  this  ideal  lover  of  her 
youth,  whom  she  had  cherished  sacredly,  carried  in  her  heart  of 
hearts;  after  the  chasm  had  been  bridged  and  they  two  stood 
face  to  face  united — alas!  she  had  found  he  was  unworthy  of 
her  devotion,  of  her  life-long  love — now  she  would  tear  his 
image  from  her  heart  and  trample  it  under  foot. 

Could  she?  Verily  she  could  not;  the  idol  had  been  too 
long  enthroned,  worthy  or  not  worthy,  whether  pure  gold  or 
only  dross;  in  the  inmost  recess  of  her  soul  Henry  Armstrong 
must  remain  enthroned — entombed  if  you  will,  to  Lucille's  dy- 


WHO   WERE   TO  BLAME.  245 


ing  day;  this  she  felt,  and  grieved  as  of  yore;  even  more  sorely 
than  ever  before. 

All  the  long  years  of  the  past  it  had  been  only  the  memory 
of  the  young  love  of  her  girlhood,  the  memory  of  a  man  scarcely 
more  than  a  boy,  the  memory  of  an  inexplicable  mystery;  but 
now  they  had  met  in  the  full  prime  of  maturity,  every  attribute, 
every  atom  developed  to  the  utmost  of  which  pure,  loving  man- 
hood and  womanhood  is  capable.  Had  met  and  been  clasped  in 
each  other's  arms,  her  tortured  heart  at  last  lay  upon  his  own, 
his  protecting  arm  around  her,  his  warm  breath  upon  her 
cheek  and  life,  passionate,  loving  life,  had  been  eagerly  absorbed 
and  freely  given  back  from  off  dewey  lips,  and  then — he  was 
gone — his  last  words: 

"I  beg  of  you  say  you  never  knew  me;  I  will  come  again 
and  explain  all."  And  now  months  had  elapsed,  and  he  had 
not  come. 

This  was  all  she  knew,  and  she  believed  he  did  not  come  be- 
cause of  the  terrible  disgrace  which  had  smce  fallen  upon  her, 
and  for  his  cowardice  she  tried  to  hate  him,  but  could  not. 

True  love  never  turns  to  hate,  but  sometimes  into  indiffer- 
ence when  the  adoration  is  gone.  Lucille  was  passing  through 
this  transition  she  thought,  otherwise  she  must  have  sank  over- 
whelmed. 

John  having  refused  help  and  co-operation  in  the  defense  of 
his  sister's  child,  a  coldness  had  come  between  himself  and  the 
friends  of  Jules;  but  Lucille  still  continued  for  a  long  time 
visiting  her  brother's  house  occasionally,  with  the  hope  of  again 
meeting  Henry ;  in  this  she  was  disappointed. 

For  Henry  Armstrong  kept  entirely  aw^ay  from  the  home  of 
his  old  friend.  Gen.  John  A.  Gascoigne,  for  several  reasons; 
one,  that  he  wished  to  avoid  Lucille  until  he  could  make  an  ex- 
planation, which  was  now  impossible  without  compromising 
others;  another,  that  he  determined  not  to  give  Mistress  Julia 
an  interview  under  any  circumstances,  and  still  another  grave 
reason  made  it  inexpedient  if  not  dangerous. 

The  rumor  of  conspiracy  had  not  entirely  died  away ;  (al- 
though the  Vice-President  had  been  quietly  installed  in  the 
place  made  vacant  by  the  death  of  the  President,  secretly  at 
midnight^  on  the  day  of  his  demise),  and  there  had  been  just  the 
faintest  whisper  of  a  hint  that  himself  and  Gen.  Gascoigne 
were  in  some  way  connected  with  it,  and  safety  dictated  that  at 
this  juncture  these  politicians  should  become  estranged  from  one 
another.     Somehow  as  only  intriguers  can  accomplish  their  de- 


246  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

signs,  it  was  bruited  about  that  Gen.  Gascoigne  was  jealous  of 
attentions  bestowed  upon  his  wife  by  the  fascinating  "  accidental 
President,"  especially  since  his  bereavement,  and  which  had 
called  for  remonstrance  from  Gen.  Gascoigne,  who,  the  gossips 
averred,  oft  times  had  occasion  to  look  rather  sharply  after  his 
gay  wife.  In  this  manner  w^as  t-lie  public  deceived  as  to  the  real 
intimacy  between  these  men  high  in  official  position,  and  thus 
it  transpired  that  Gen.  Gascoigne  no  longer  spoke  the  name  of 
the  new  President  in  his  home,  and  forbade  his  wife  the  privi- 
lege. This  command  would  have  annoyed  Mistress  Julia  less 
could  she  have  continued  her  flirtation  with  the  handsome 
widower  President,  but  one  cannot  flirt  all  alone,  and  he  ignored 
her  existence.  For  the  time  the  passionate,  fickle  woman  was 
desperately  in  love  with  her  new  flame,  and  would  have  braved 
a  scandal;  disgracing  husband  and  children  for  his  sake,  and 
was  now  deeply  chagrined  and  puzzled  to  account  for  the  sud- 
den coldness.  She  did  not  know  there  was  another  woman  in 
the  case,  and  that  herself  was  getting  a  taste  of  her  own  medi- 
cine, which  she  had  forced  upon  many  a  true  wife  ere  her  own 
retribution  came. 


IVNO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  247 


CHAPTER  XXXIIl. 

lucille's  letter  to  henry. 

Jules  was  now  a  closely  guarded  felon  under  sentence  of 
death. 

One  day  Lucille  and  Gertrude  were  returning  from  a  visit  to 
his  cell;  as  they  were  passing  on  foot  past  the  Capitol,  after 
their  weary  walk  of  an  hour  across  the  common,  who  should 
Lucille  discover  coming  down  the  broad  marble  steps,  but 
Henry  Armstrong.  One  quick  glance,  to  which  there  was  no 
apparent  response,  and  she  passed  on,  with  feeble,  grief-stricken 
step,  and  head  bowed  down. 

He  recognized  her  at  once,  and  had  Lucille  seen  the  concen- 
trated, passionate  love  of  years,  which  came  unbidden  and  in 
spite  of  a  strong  man's  will,  into  the  eyes  that  hungrily  sought 
her  downcast  face — a  passion,  a  love,  leaping  like  liquid  fire 
from  the  throbbing  heart,  burning  through  every  vein  and  fiber^ 
though  suddenly,  instantly  repressed,  crowded  back  into  the 
secret  sanctuary  of  the  man's  hidden  life,  mastered  by  a  super- 
human force;  but  leaving  those  glorious,  warm  brown  eyes 
burnt  and  scared  and  changed',  forever  after  of  an  ashen,  dead, 
blue-grey  hue,  so  unlike  those  of  the  Henry  she  had  known-;— had 
she  seen  this,  the  positive  assurance  thus  unwittingly  given,  of  a 
love  as  unquenchable  as  her  own,  it  must  have  comforted  Lucille's 
breaking  heart.  And  if  the  noble-looking,  imposingly  handsome, 
altogether  exquisite  gentleman,  had  been  shot  then  and  there, 
he  could  not  have  turned  to  a  more  deathly  pallor,  or  shown 
greater  trepidation,  for  an  instant — only  an  instant,  so  quickly 
did  he  recover  himself. 

Without  haste  or  further  apparent  emotion,  he  came  down 
the  steps  with  a  party  of  noted  men  accompanying  him,  taking 
seats  in  a  carriage  waiting  for  them.  Yes,  it  was  the  Presi- 
dent's liveried  carriage,  Lucille  could  see;  although  she  came 
near  falling  in  a  faint  with  the  shock  of  surprise,  grief  and  con- 
sternation which  overpowered  her. 

Certainly  the  gentlemen  in  his  company  gave  him  prece- 
dence-^what  could  it  mean? 

He  must  be  an  influential  man,  a  friend  of  the  President, 
his  private  carriage  placed  at  his  disposal. 


248  ^      THE  STALWARTS;   DR. 

"  No  wonder,"  thought  the  sad,  crushed  Httle  woman,  "  he 
could  not  come  to  me,  or  keep  up  his  acquaintance  with  Gen. 
Gascoigne,  both  now  known  to  be  relatives  of  the  despised  'as- 
sassin.' "  And  Lucille  thought  she  had  solved  the  mystery,  and 
for  the  first  \!\mQ  Jully  realized  what  a  terrible  calamity  had  be- 
fallen her  sister's  child  and  all  who  should  be  connected  with 
him  down  to  remotest  time. 

She  felt  now  that  fate  had  her  in  its  iron-vise,  relentlessly 
pressing  the  life  current  from  her  bleeding  heart — and  that  no 
earthly  power  could  save. 

And  Henry  Armstrong,  the  "  accidental  "  President,  what 
of  him? 

How  he  reached  the  end  of  that  long  flight  of  steps,  com- 
posedly continuing  the  conversation,  and  chatting  gaily  with 
his  friends  as  they  rode  together  to  the  White  House,  quietly 
maintaining  his  equilibrium  until  he  could  finally  dismiss  them 
and  be  alone,  was  past  his  own  comprehension;  and  certam  it 
is,  from  that  day,  wiienever  the  beautiful  and  imposing  Capitol 
of  the  Nation  came  within  view,  his  heart  sank  and  sickened, 
and  he  could  see  Lucille  exactly  as  she  appeared  to  him  then, 
and  he  felt  again  just  as  when  he  had  passed  her  by  without  the 
slightest  sign  giving  proof  of  his  love,  or  even  that  he  ever 
knew  her.  Passed  her  by — the  woman  he  would  have  died  to 
possess  as  his  own,  with  not  so  much  as  a  glance  from  his  eyes, 
and  hers  cast  upon  him  with  such  a  desperate,  hungry  look  of 
longing,  not  the  least  reproach  or  anger,  at  what  anyone  must 
deem  his  outrageous  treatment;  but  only  surprise,  and  love  be- 
seeching and  inexpressibly  tender,  expressed  in  every  line  of 
her  sad,  worn,  pale  face. 

And  the  struggle  of  those  few  hours  which  he  spent  alone, 
when  his  friends  had  left  him,  the  strong  man  never  forgot. 

His  life  would  not  have  weighed  a  feather  in  the  balance, 
could  its  forfeit  have  gained  for  him,  and  for  her,  one  quiet  hour 
of  companionship  and  happiness  in  the  complete  possession  and 
ownership  of  love. 

But  others  besides  himself  were  involved  in  the  tangled 
thread  of  their  destiny,  and  this  could  not  be.  How  he  longed 
to  take  the  weary  little  woman  in  his  arms  and  comfort  her 
aching  heart,  but  at  present  it  was  absolutely  impossible  to  com- 
municate with  her  in  the  slightest.  They  must  continue  as 
though  they  had  never  met,  until  the  revolving  wheel  of  fate 
brought  some  propitious  changes.  Whatever  this  might  involve 
Henry  had  no  idea,  but  that  some  event  or  events  would  transpire 


IV//0   WERE   TO  BLAME.  249 

whereby  Lucille  should  be  his  own  in  fact,  as  she  was  now  in 
feeling  and  desire,  he  believed.  The  possibility  of  such  con- 
summation depended  upon  persistent  avoidance  of  recognition, 
on  this  point  his  mind  was  clear,  further  into  futurity  he  did 
not  penetrate. 

As  for  Lucille,  accustomed  co  shocks  and  griefs  and  suffer- 
ing of  almost  every  kind,  figuratively  knocked  down  so  many 
times  before,  she  only  gathered  herself  up  wearily,  and  sick 
with  despondency,  dragged  along  her  homeward  way,  carefully 
helped  by  Gertrude,  to  whom  she  explained  her  condition  as 
the  effect  of  intense  heat  and  fatigue. 

Reaching  her  quiet  room  she  sat  herself  down  to  think  of 
all  the  long,  dreary  past,  of  the  present,  and  of  the  unknown 
future. 

Sadly  and  anxiously  pondermg  over  the  whole  situation, 
Lucille  resolved  upon  writing  a  letter,  not  in  her  own  behalf, 
but  interceding  for  Myra's  crazy  boy,  with  Henry  Armstrong, 
her  old-time  lover,  and  now  certainly,  she  thought,  the  intimate 
and  influential  friend  of  the  President. 

She  had  lately  considered  the  plan  of  going  herself  to  the 
Chief  Executive,  begging  his  clemency,  trying  what  she  could 
do  by  personal  appeal;  but  this  would  be  better:  yes,  much 
better,  she  would  write  to-morrow. 

On  the  morrow,  as  Lucille  had  resolved,  she  wrote  to  Henry 
Armstrong,  directing  her  letter  in  the  care  of  Hon.  Gerald  A. 
Johnson,  His  Excellency,  The  President  of  the  United  States. 
She  had  seen  Henry  but  twice  during  her  residence  in  Wash- 
ington, and  concluded  him  to  be  merely  a  visitor,  and  with  the 
President's  carriage  at  his  disposal,  she  argued  a  letter  sent 
through  his  hands  would  reach  its  proper  destination. 

Henry  begging  Lucille  not  to  disclose  their  acquaintance, 
when  leaving  her  at  Gen.  Gascoigne's,  she  had  refrained  from 
making  inquires  regarding  him  of  her  brother  or  his  wife,  and 
not  meeting  him  there  again,  was  corroborated  in  the  idea  that 
he  was  an  occasional  visitor  at  the  Capitol,  accidentally,  per- 
haps, securing  an  introduction  to  her  brother's  family,  know- 
ing, as  she  did,  Julia's  predeliction  for  cultivating  distinguished 
strangers,  in  which  category  Henry  surely  seemed  to  belong. 
She  had  heard  the  rumors  of  jealousy  on  the  part  of  her  brother 
towards  several  gentlemen,  the  President  included,  and  doubted 
not  the  gay  Julia  had  given  ample  occasion ;  probably  Henry  had 
been  one  of  her  casual  admirers  and  come  under  the  ban  of 
John's  displeasure;  this  would  account  for  his  continued  absence; 


250  THE  STALWARTS:  OR, 

or  possibly  he  wished  to  avoid  herself,  and  thus  the  discovery  of 
their  secret.  Fortunately  or  otherw^ise,  on  the  day  of  the  en- 
counter, at  her  brother's  house,  w^hen  the  servant  came  in  view, 
Henry  and  Lucille  had  taken  the  alarm  and  were  standing  one 
on  either  side  of  the  room,  each  cold  as  an  icicle,  entirely  self- 
possessed,  their  trouble  safely  concealed  in  their  own  hearts. 

After  that  interview,  Lucille  was  positive,  whatever  the 
mystery  influencing  Henry's  past  and  present  conduct  might  be, 
his  heart  was  true  to  her,  and  that  he  would  now  respond  to  her 
request,  and  try  his  best  to  induce  the  President  to  commute  the 
sentence  of  Jules  Grieveau  to  imprisonment,  and  thus  they,  no 
less  than  himself,  might  be  saved  from  the  disgrace  of  his  ex- 
ecution, as  she  had   come  to  consider  the  world  would  estimate. 

Until  recently,  his  friends,  absorbed  in  the  anxiety  and  grief 
of  the  situation,  had  given  no  thought  as  to  how  they  were  re- 
garded in  their  relationship  to  the  "vile  assassin,"  their  first  aim 
being  to  save  Jules  from  a  cruel  and  unjust  fate.  But  during 
the  time  intervening  between  his  sentence  and  its  execution, 
they  were  considering  the  importance  to  themselves  as  well  as 
Jules,  of  averting  it  if  possible. 

They  believed  that  time,  the  softener  of  all  bitterness,  would 
in  a  measure,  right  the  wrong  by  allowing  the  truth  of  his  in- 
sanity, and  that  history  would  excuse  the  deed  in  him,  placing 
the  blame  where  it  belonged;  but  remembering  it  were  always 
better  to  prevent,  than  to  depend  upon  correcting  an  evil,  they 
redoubled  every  effort  to  avert  the  catastrophe. 

With  this  view  the  following  letter  was  sent  to  Henry  Arm- 
strong in  the  President's  care,  by  Lucille,  as  her  final  attempt 
in  his  behalf: 

Washington,  D.  C,  June  29th,  18 — ,  Thursday. 
To  the  Hon.  Henry  Armstrong, 

My  Friend  of  the  Olden-time: 

With  emotions  inexpressible,  an  uncertainty  bred  from  ig- 
norance of  your  position,  a  mingling  of  doubt,  chagrin  and 
sorrow,  but  withal  of  love,  which,  since  our  meeting  at  my 
brother's  I  am  free  to  confess  is  boundless  and  unutterable;  I 
address  you,  not  in  the  capacity  of  any  high  place  or  influence 
you  may  hold,  but  as  a  man  wnth  the  sense  of  right,  the  feel- 
ings of  humanity  common  to  good  men  ever3^where. 

Not  in  my  own  behalf;  too  many  years  has  self  been  cru- 
cified— as  between  you  and  me  all  is  mystery  unfathomable — 
sometime — somewhere — God  grant  it  may  be  solved. 

My  request  now  is,  for  my  dead  sister's  child,  Jules  Grie- 


H'lIO   WERE   TO  BLAME.  251 

veau,  "  the  assassin."  I  yesterday  visited  him  in  his  cell,  or 
rather  outside  the  grated  door,  not  being  allowed  to  enter,  but 
kissing  the  lips  dear  to  me,  taking  the  warm  hand  in  mine 
through  the  bars.  He  was  at  times  so  violent  they  dared  not 
open  the  grating  into  the  corridor.  I  was  unprepared  to  find 
him  in  this  wild,  crazy  condition,  for  much  of  the  time  he  is 
quiet  and  reconciled  to  the  inevitable  in  the  strong  belief  that  he 
is  "  God's  man,"  as  he  expresses  it,  and  will  be  cared  for  either 
here  or  in  the  Great  Beyond,  having  no  anxiety  about  himself, 
it  is  immaterial  to  him  whether  he  remains  in  his  cell  or  goes 
"  to  Paradise,"  as  he  says,  of  the  two  preferring  Paradise. 

But  yesterday  he  was  in  terrible  excitement  over  something 

«  the  making  of  a  will,"   said  the  confessor  and  the  lawyer, 

both  employed  as  I  am  informed  and  believe  by  the  administra- 
tion to  protect  itself  and  its  co-workers  in  iniquity  from  any 
scheme  Jules  may  at  the  last  moment  perhaps  reveal,  though 
inadvertently,  in  his  insane  ravings,  likely  to  criminate  any  other 
than  himself.  Whatever  he  may  know  or  imagine  of  concealed 
villainy,  he  was  yesterday  pounding  his  cell  door  until  it  rang 
even  louder  than  his  voice  as  he  denounced  the  warden,  the 
President,  the  Stalwarts,  in  curses  loud  and  long,  saying  God 
would  punish  every  one  because  they  had  gone  back  on  him, 
leaving  him  to  suffer  while  they  had  "  a  good  time  outside,"  as 
he  made  us  understand,  in  spite  of  the  confessor,  who,  inside  the 
cell,  was  vainly  trying  to  quiet  him  with  soft  words  and  endear- 
ments, his  arms  about  his  neck,  so  anxious  w^as  he  tp  keep  back 
any  revelations. 

I  have  tried  to  picture  Jules  to  you  as  he  appeared  to 
me,  that  you  may  more  fully  understand  his  case  and  condition 
and  where  the  real  blame  lies;  and  I  entreat  you  to  use  your 
utmost  endeavor  with  the  President  for  the  commutation  of  his 
sentence  to  imprisonment.  What  good  to  society  or  to  him 
can  be  accomplished  by  the  execution  of  this  insane  man  I  am 
at  a  loss  to  understand.*  Why  not  stay  the  sentence  procured 
by  an  unjust  and  unfair  trial,  and  appoint  a  competent  commis- 
sion to  examine  his  case  from  a  medical,  not  from  a  legal  or 
criminal  standpoint? 

Surely  could  the  President  be  acquainted  with  the  facts  di- 
vested of  prejudice,  he  would  interfere  and  the  country  be  saved 
the  disgrace;'  himself,  the  remorse  of  allowing  the  execution  of 
an  irresponsible  man. 

A  petition  will  be  sent  to  the  President  to-day  signed  by 
hundreds   of   the  best   people  in  the  land,  physicians,  lawyers. 


252  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

men  and  women  connected  with  educational  institutions  and 
others,  of  refinement,  intelligence  and  thought,  who  have  gone 
below  the  surface  in  this  matter,  forming  just  conclusions  which 
time  will  confirm. 

You  have  no  need  to  be  ashamed  of  their  company.  Will 
you  for  truth's  sake,  for  justice's  sake,  for  the  old  love's  sake, 
for  7ny  sake^  if  happily  this  can  move  you,  join  them,  and  in- 
tercede with  the  President,  whom  I  judge  to  be  your  friend, 
when  the  intimacy  places  his  private  carriage  at  your  disposal; 
for  the  reprieve  of  one  unjustly  condemned? 

Oh!  Henry,  my  friend  of  years  gone  by,  will  you  not  use 
your  influence  for  the  rescue  of  Myra's  boy  from  his  impend- 
ing fate? 

Think,  Henry,  of  his  sainted  mother,  you  who  knew  her 
pure  and  lovely  life,  remember  the  boy's  unfortunate  birth,  en- 
tailing years  of  suffering  upon  her,  finally  ending  in  her  early 
death;  a  birth  proving  only  a  calamity  to  himself  and  his 
friends. 

You  who  knew  his  ancestry,  respected,  upright,  honored, 
tell  me,  must  all  this  be  lost,  and  we  as  a  family  go  down  into 
the  depths  of  shame? 

Oh!  Henry,  my  beloved!  for  I  will  say  this  now,  even 
though  you  cruelly  passed  me  by  yesterday  without  the  slightest 
notice,  for  I  know  you  love  me  still  notwithstanding  your  strange 
conduct;  and  I  am  sure  you  can  help  me  in  this  dire  distress. 
Will  you?  This  is  my  last  appeal.  W^ill  you  help  me  save 
Myra's  boy,  Jules  Grieveau?     * 

Should  success  attend  your  efforts,  the  undying  gratitude  of 
poor  Jules'  friends  will  be  yours,  not  least  in  value  perhaps  to 
you  may  be  that  of  Lucille. 


WHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  253 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

PLAYING  FATHER  CONFESSOR. ONE  OF  THE  306. 

Lucille's  letter  was  delivered  immediately  to  Henry;  the 
petition  he  never  saw.  Somehow  by  the  manipulation  of  the 
same  invisible  power,  before  referred  to,  it  remained  tied  up  in 
the  White  House  "red  tape,"  and  never  came  to  light  until  long 
after  Jules  Grieveau  had  opened  his  eyes  in  Paradise. 

The  agony  of  mind  and  heart  endured  by  Henry  upon  the 
perusal  of  this  letter,  was  beyond  anything  he  had  before  un- 
dergone; but  for  reasons  already  explained,  he  could  not  re- 
spond, or  help  Jules  in  the  least  degree.  An  interference  on  his 
part,  or  of  anyone  connected  with  the  administration,  would  be 
regarded  by  the  people  as  corroborating  the  vague  rumors  of  a 
conspiracy  still  floating  through  the  air,  of  which  Jules  was  said 
to  be  the  unconscious,  deluded  tool ;  they  had  not  forgotten  the 
suffering  and  death  of  the  martyred  President,  and  could  hardly 
settle  down  to  the  belief  that  only  crazy  Jules  Grieveau  was  to 
blame. 

And  some  unseen  intelligence  seemed  to  fear  the  friends  of 
Jules  would  claim  after  his  death  that  he  had  imparted  to  them 
more  than  they  made  public;  and  for  this  reason  both  were 
closely  watched. 

The  new  President's  most  intimate  counselor,  a  wealthy 
minister  and  renowned  politician,  one  of  the  306,  being  sent  to 
sleep  on  a  cot  injront  of  the  cell  door  ^  and  for  weeks  before  his 
death  watching  "the  assassin"  night  and  day  lest  a  word  or 
hint  should  escape  of  which  they  were  not  apprised. 

His  spiritual  advisor,  the  confessor  and  politician  mentioned, 
taking  care  to  gain  the  confidence  of  Jules,  who,  being  of  an 
affectionate  disposition,  this  was  easily  accomplished;  by  flattery 
and  sympathy  he  was  encouraged  to  communicate,  and  every 
word  uttered,  carefully  noted  by  the  devoted  confessor;  not  less 
devoted  than  was  the  dead  President's  most  devoted  doctor; 
these  two,  by  faithful  service  to  the  cause,  certainly  earning  an 
exceeding  great  reward  in  the  interest  of  virtue  or  villainy, 
which  was  it? 

The  transcript  of  his  sayings  which  accumulated  ^uring  the 
last  weeks  of  Jules  Grieveau's  life  were  preserved  by  the  con- 


254  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

fessor,  he  omitting  any  objectionable  hints  or  passages,  any  al- 
lusion to  the  Stalwarts;  he  intending,  should  the  necessity  arise, 
to  give  all  a  thorough  revision,  publishing  the  revised  work  as 
Jules'  statement  of  all  the  facts  in  his  possession,  thus  exonerat- 
ing and  protecting  those  who  sent  him  to  do  the  work.  Jules 
had  invariably  insisted  when  questioned  that  "  The  Deity  and 
me"  had  accomplished  the  deed,  and  denied  any  knowledge  of 
a  conspiracy  to  save  the  men  interested  in  the  success  of  the 
great  frauds  from  prosecution  and  punishment,  by  "  the  remov- 
al "  of  the  President.  Deceived,  deluded  tool,  although  he 
knew  not  the  hidden  hand  which  was  using  him,  often  in  his 
rattling,  crazy  talk,  he  verified  the  adage,  "  Children  and  fools 
tell  the  truth."  Hence  the  precaution  practiced  as  to  his  sayings, 
writings  and  finally  his  execution,  forever  stilling  his  excited, 
feverish  brain  and  babbling  tongue. 

The  unseen  mtelligence  engaged  in  manipulating  his  case, 
also  encouraged  him  in  writing,  for  it  would  never  do  to  let  the 
claim  be  made  that  he  had  been  deprived  of  the  privilege  of 
promulgating  all  he  knew.  Therefore  a  book  was  prepared 
and  published  after  careful  supervision,  Jules  believing  a  second 
trial  would  be  granted  and  the  sale  of  the  book  which  was  called 
by  the  taking  title  "  The  Truth,  and  The  Removal,"  would  en- 
able the  payment  of  suitable  counsel  for  his  defense.  Jules  was 
also  given  to  understand  that  the  notes  and  papers  bequeathed 
to  the  confessor  by  virtue  of  a  bogus  will,  void  and  ofnon  effect 
wrung  from  him  at  the  last  moment — concurred  in  under  pro- 
test^ by  his  sister  as  his  heir;  for  thus  only  could  she  secure  a 
final  interview  with  her  brother;  should  be  used  just  as  received 
from  him  in  compiling  another  book,  to  be  a  complete  vindica- 
tion of  his  act,  and  prove  that  he  was  inspired  of  God  to  "  re- 
move "  the  President,  and  thus  prevent  another  civil  war;  which 
he  fully  believed  the  truth,  and  expected  his  name  after  the 
publication  to  "  go  thundering  down  the  ages,"  not  as  Grieveau 
the  assassin^  but  as  Grieveau  the  Patriot  and  savior  of 
his  Country,  beside  those  of  Washington  and  Lincoln  and 
Grant,  as  he  classed  them. 

This  project  pleased  him  beyond  measure,  as  he  was  ex- 
tremely sensitive  upon  the  point  of  his  insanity,  always  resent- 
ing the  imputation  angrily;  calling  the  working  of  his  mind 
which  culminated  in  the  shooting  of  the  President,  inspiration. 
But  withal  the  rest  of  his  strange  make-up,  possessing  in  some 
directions  the  quick-witted  cunning  common  to  the  insane,  he 
would  sometimes  admit,  both  in  speaking  and  writing,  that  such 


WHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  255 

manifestations  constituted  i?isanity  in  thelazv^  '■^Abraham's  insan- 
ity ^^'' he  would  say,  with  his  chuckling,  crazy  laugh.  This  was  one 
of  the  ideas  which  cropped  out  after  the  lawyer  before  referred 
to  as  working  with  the  confessor,  both  Covering  up  tracks,  had 
gotten  into  the  case  for  the  defense,  gaining  unbounded  influ- 
ence over  Jules,  and  injecting  this,  with  other  like  ideas,  into  his 
crazy  brain  for  a  purpose. 

He  also  bitterly  resented  the  thonght  that  he  could  do  so 
dastardly  a  deed  as  murder  a  fellow-being  in  cold  blood  from 
selfish  motives.  He  said:  "  The  President  -was  a  good Jellowjie 
never  did  ?ne  any  har?n^  but  he  was  wrecking  the  Republi- 
cafz  party ^  and  sure  to  bring  on  a  civil  war^  and  the  Deity  put 
it  upon  me  to  <-  remove  '  him,  and  I  had  to  do  it  if  I  had  been 
shot  dead  the  next  minute.  I  prayed  and  prayed  for  weeks  to 
be  let  off — but  the  pressure  of  inspiration  was  on  me,  grinding, 
grinding^  grinding  me  down,  and  I  could  not  escape;  I  tell 
you  I  had  to  do  it^"*  he  would  sometimes  yell  out  in  thundering 
tones.  "  I  would  not  go  into  that  crov^d  of  people  at  that  depot 
and  fire  that  shot  again,  not  for  a  million  dollars.  I  was  never 
so  unhappy  in  my  life  (and  I'd  had  trouble  enough  before),  as 
I  was  that  spring  when  the  Deity  was  putting  it  upon  me  to  do 
that  thing;  but  when  it  was  done  I  was  all  right,  and  told  the 
folks  so — told  them  to  go  home  and  keep  quiet;  the  Deity  and 
me  had  fixed  it,  and  everything  would  be  all  right  now  and  no 
more  trouble,  and  I  was  happy  and  contented  after  I  gave  my- 
self up  and  the  officers  got  me  safely  into  my  cell.  I  could 
sleep  then^  for  I  knew  I'd  done  the  Deity's  work,  and  He'd 
take  care  of  it.  I  hadn't  had  a  night's  rest  for  weeks  before  I 
fired  that  shot,  and  I  tell  you  it  seemed  good  to  get  into  a  quiet 
place,  with  my  mind  easy  and  nothing  to  trouble  me."  [These, 
and  all  quotations  attributed  to  Jules  Grievau,  are  my  brother's 
very  words.     F.  M.  N.] 

Poor  fellow,  he  did  not  understand  or  recognize  the  fact 
that  the  grinding  pressure  was  an  influence  from  without,  per- 
sistently exerted  with  malicious  intent,  for  weeks  and  months, 
until  the  time  came  when  for  their  ow^n  protection,  murder  was 
to  be  preferred  to  political  suicide,  and  the  hypnotized  tool  held 
as  though  by  an  iron  hand^  was  at  the  right  ?no?ne?zt  (as  he  ex- 
pressed it  in  his  testimony  upon  his  trial)  "projected  upon  the 
President,"  and  the  desired  end  accomplished  by  those  who 
willed  the  deed. 

How  shamefully  his  "  spiritual  advisor,"  the  confessor,  de- 
ceived him  in  every  particular,  and  especially  as  to  the  use  he 


256  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

intended  making  of  the  knowledge  gained  through  intimate  as- 
sociation with  him  and  from  his  writings,  happily  Jules  Grie- 
veau  never  knew. 

•  Neither  did  Lucille  know  why  Henry  Armstrong  failed  to 
answer  her  appealing  letter,  or  did  anyone  know^  outside  the 
ring,  why  nothing  more  was  heard  about  the  petition  to  the 
President  after  it  went  to  the  White  House  in  the  hand  of  the 
same  trusty  and  most  devoted  confessor;  he  having,  with  wily 
tact,  ingratiated  himself  with  the  friends  of  Jules,  thereby  learn- 
ing all  their  plans,  that  he  might  frustrate  them,  they  believing 
from  his  manner  of  treating  both  Jules  and  themselves  that  he 
was  using  his  utmost  endeavor  trying  to  save  the  boy;  mean- 
while doing  well  his  work  of  watching  and  revising,  even  to  the 
scaffold  speech  and  prayer. 

The  queer,  pathetic,  crazy  death-song  written  by  Jules 
Grieveau,  early  upon  the  morning  of  his  execution  not  being 
exempt  from  the  pious  confessor's  sacreligious  meddling;  but 
even  so,  the  little  story  based  upon  the  thought  which  came  to 
Jules  with  the  first  light,  as  in  the  early  dawn  of  his  last  day 
upon  earth  he  read  from  a  book  of  poems  presented  to  him  by 
C.  J.  Griffith,  of  Baltimore,  as  inscribed  therein,  a  hymn,  which 
his  sister  found  marked  in  his  own  writing  after  his  execution, 
— namely:  "/  shall  be  there  soon^''  of  which  this  is  the  first 
verse : 

Beyond  the  smiling  and  the  weeping, 

I  shall  be  soon; 
Beyond  the  waking  and  the  sleeping, 
Beyond  the  sowing  and  the  reaping, 

I  shall  be  soon. 
Love,  rest,  and  home! 

Sweet  hope! 
Lord,  tarry  not,  but  come. 

In  conversation  with  his  confessor,  following  the  thought  he 
said,  "Before  to-morrow  I  shall  enter  the  kingdom;  it  is  the 
Lord's  will  or  it  would  not  be  permitted.  /  am  satisfied^  it's 
all  right.  As  a  little  child  I  will  go  to  Him,  nothing  doubting," 
and  this  thought  suggested  Jules  Grieveau's  Death  Song,  "/ 
Am   Going    To  the  LordyT 

I  am  going  to  the  Lordy, 

I  am  so  glad; 
I  am  going  to  the  Lordy, 

I  am  so  glad; 
I  am  going  to  the  Lordy, 
Glory  Hallelujah!   Glory  Hallelujahl 
I  am  going  to  the  Lordy. 


WHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  257 

I  love  the  Lordy  with  all  my  soul, 

Glory  Hallelujah! 
And  that  is  the  reason  I  am  going  to  the  Lord, 

Glory  Hallelujah!  Glory  Hallelujah! 
I  am  going  to  the  Lord. 

I  saved  my  party  and  my  land, 

Glory  Hallelujah! 
But  they  have  murdered  me  for  it, 

And  that  is  the  reason  I  am  going  to  the  Lordy. 
Glory  Hallelujah!  Glory  Hallelujah! 

I  am  going  to  the  Lordy. 

I  wonder  what  I  will  see 

When  I  get  to  the  Lordy, 
I  guess  I  will  weep  no  more 

When  I  get  to  the  Lordy, 
Glory  Hallelujah! 

I  wonder  what  I  will  see 

When  I  get  to  the  Lordy, 
I  expect  to  see  most  splendid  things, 

Beyond  all  earthly  conception, 
When  I  am  with  the  Lordy, 

Glory  Hallelujah!   Glory  Hallelujah! 

/  am  with  the  Lord! 

The  thought  and  the  pathos  of  it,  even  thougn  marked  un- 
mistakably by  msanity,  must  touch  a  tender,  sympathetic  chord 
in  every  heart  wherever  it  shall  be  read. 


258  ^^-^  STALWARTS;  OK, 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

ready!  glory! 

The  hours  were  rapidly  passing,  and  now  unfortunate  Jules 
Grieveau  must  ascend  the  scaffold.  On  the  morrow,  so  soon, 
was  the  execution  of  the  unjust  sentence  to  be  consummated; 
his  friends  were  allowed  a  parting  interview,  and  sadly,  with 
tear-dripping  hearts,  Lucille,  Gertrude  and  the  others,  led  by 
one  of  the  guards,  passed  through  the  large  outer  room  where 
had  gathered  a  crowd  of  the  curious,  into  the  narrow  way  lead- 
ing to  the  cell  of  the  "assassin." 

When  they  reached  the  door  Jules  was  heard  denouncing 
the  "  accidental "  President,  whom  he  styled  an  "  ingrate  and  a 
villain,"  implying  that  he  expected  some  favor  from  him,  and 
had  been  disappointed,  saying  that  "  Deity  would  curse  him, 
and  every  one  concerned  in  this  judicial  murder.  I  spit  upon 
this  death  warrant,  this  execution,"  he  said. 

"  You  can  hang  me  if  you  want  to,  you  can  put  my 
body  in  the  ground,  it  is  all  you  can  do;  but  I'm  God's  man 
and  you'll  find  it  out  yet.  God'll  curse  you  for  this,  r?n  not 
afraid  to  die.  Paradise's  a  great  improvement  on  this  place. 
I'm  God's  man,  he'll  take  care  of  me,  I'd  rather  die  like  a  man 
than  be  shut  up  like  a  dog.  Put  me  in  the  insane  asylum!  ha! 
ha!"  Again  that  laugh.  "  That  crazy  sister  of  mine  is  trying 
to  get  the  President  to  put  me  in  a  lunatic  aslyum.  Me,  a  luna- 
tic! ha!  ha!  ha!  Guess  I  know  what  I'm  about.  The  Deity 
and  me's  all  right,  but  the  President's  a  villain  to  keep  me  here 
so  long  while  he's  having  a  good  time  outside,  and  he  won't  let 
me  go  now  when  I've  got  my  satchel  all  packed  to  go  to  Mar- 
sailles,  Consul  to  France,  you  know  where  our  folks  came  from. 
I  wouldn't  care  only  they  promised  me.  I'd  rather  go  to  Para- 
dise anyhow,  but  now  my  lady's  waiting  for  me  in  New  York 
ready  to  take  the  steamer,  you  know — we  were  going  to  be 
married,"  and  he  gave  a  significant  look  towards  Gertrude  and 
Lucille  who  came  up  to  the  door  just  then.  "  But  the  President 
won't  let  me  go  now,  after  all,  he's  an  ingrate  and  a  villain,  he'd 
never  have  been  a  President  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Deity  and  me, 
and  God  will  curse  him  for  this,  I'm  God's  man,  and  I'm  all 
right,  but  I'm  sorry  for  the  President,  he'll  get  punished  yet, 


WHO   WERE   TO  BLAME.  259 

and  you'll  all  find  out  that  I'm  right.  And  you're  a  villain  too," 
turning  and  noticing  the  warden.  "  You  pretended  you'd  let 
me  go  whan  the  time  came,  and  now  you  won't;  I  don't  care, 
but  I  hate  deception  and  trickery  and  meanness,  it's  nothing  to 
me  though,  what  you  do  an}-  of  you,  the  Deity'U  take  care  of 
me,  and  take  care  of  every  one  of  you  villains  yet,  too." 

And  as  the  crazy  man  talked  loudly  in  his  excited,  wild,  in- 
coherent manner,  he  pounded  the  bars  of  his  cell  door  until  they 
rattled  and  resounded  through  all  the  jail. 

Lucille  and'Gertrude  spoke  gently,  lovingly,  trying  to  quiet 
him  with  pleasant  allusions  to  a  boquet  they  had  before  sent  in, 
by  the  warden's  son  John,  and  to  his  mother  dwelling  for  long 
years  past  in  the  Better  Land.  The  confessor  within  the  cell, 
having  every  appearance  of  the  watchful  English  mastiff,  laid 
his  hand  on  Jules'  shoulder,  not  roughly;  and  speaking  kindly 
the  desired  effect  was  produced,  and  he  became  for  a  few  mo- 
ments docile  as  a  child  with  its  mother,  and  turning,  laid  his 
head  affectionately  on  his  keeper's  neck,  throwing  his  arms  around 
him,  saying,  "Yes,  confessor,  I'll  be  quiet;  I'll  do  as  you  say,  I 
suppose  it's  all  right,  you  know  best;  but  don't  forget  the  book 
and  the  record,  and  my  vindication,  Grieveau  the  Patriot! 
that's  the  way  I  want  my  name  to  go  'thundering  down  the 
ages,'  mind  you  don't  forget,  confessor,  don't  forget  what  you 
promised  me.  The  Deity'U  get  down  on  you  if  you  do;  I  don't 
care  what  they  do  with  7iie^  I'd  rather  go  to  Paradise  anyhow; 
there's  nothing  in  this  world  that  /want;  they  are  all  a  mean 
lot  down  here  anyhow;  the  Stalwarts,  the  President  and  all  of 
you,  all  but  the  Lord's  men.  It's  all  right  if  the  Deity  wants 
me  to  go.  I'd  rather  sit  on  one  of  those  thrones  up  there  than 
to  be  President,  or  get  married  and  go  to  Marsailles.  Paradise 
is  a  great  improvement  on  this  place  anyhow." 

Trying  to  divert  his  attention  from  the  theme  which  ex- 
asperated him,  the  confessor  reached  for  the  flowers  before  men- 
tioned, taking  them  from  the  ledge  of  the  little  window, 
which  had  been  bricked  up  to  within  four  inches  of  the  top  for 
protection  his  friends  insisting,  after  one  of  his  own  guards 
had  fired  at  him,  instigated  by  authorities.  For  in  every  w^ay  had 
the  administration,  ajter  conviction^  tried  to  avoid  hanging  a 
man  they  knew  to  be  insane,  and  this  by  trickery;  well  knowing 
a  pardon  or  even  reprieve  to  Grieveau,  would  be  their  own  death 
warrant,  so  suspicious  were  the  people  of  the  Stalwart  Presi- 
dent. Handing  the  boquet  to  Jules,  he  smelling  it,  said,  "Yes 
thev  are  verv  nice;  I  haven't   had  any  flowers  before  for  a  long 


260  THE  STALWARTS;   OR. 

time;  but  I'll  have  all  the  flowers  I  want  when  I  get  there  to- 
moi'roiv.''''  Lucille  catching  this  moment  when  he  was  calmer, 
spoke  again  of  his  mother.  "She'll  be  glad  to  see  you  Jules, 
she's  waiting  for  you  up  there,  she's — "  but  a  sob  uncontrollable 
broke  the  sentence.  "Yes,"  he  answered,  not  taking  notice  of 
her  grief,  "I  don't  remember  much  about  her,  I  suppose  she 
was  a  very  nice  woman.  It's  a  long  time  since  I've  seen  her,  I 
don't  suppose  she'll  know  me,  but  I  shall  be  glad  to  make  her 
acquaintance  again;  I  guess  she'll  be  glad  to  see  me  too,"  be- 
coming excited  again.  "I  was  all  ready  to  go  to*France,  w^here 
our  folks  came  from  you  know,  but  the  President  won't  let  me 
go,  he's  a  villain.  I  don't  care  only  the  lady'll  be  disappointed 
you  know.  I'd  rather  goto  Paradise  anyhow,  for  the  confessor 
here  says  the  Deity  wants  me  up  there;  but  the  Preside?it^s  a 
villainV  screaming  and  yelling  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  pound- 
the  cell  door  until  it  shook  and  rattled,  he  not  minding  the  work 
of  the  cruel  iron  on  his  bare  fists. 

At  last  Lucille  and  Gartrude  could  endure  no  more,  and 
Gertrude  said,  weeping,  "Jules,  you  know  I  always  loved  you, 
no  matter  what  you  did,  will  you  kiss  me  good  bye?" 

"Kiss  you!  kiss  you?  Yes,  kiss  me  through  the  bars;  let  it 
go  thundering  down  the  ages  that  my  sister  kissed  me  through 
the  bars.  Ha!  ha!  ha!"  and  the  parting  kiss  and  the  crazy  laugh 
were  inseparably  intermingled. 

Bidding  him  again  a  final  farewell,  in  their  hearts  commend- 
ing poor  Jules  Grieveau  to  the  care  of  that  God  who  looketh 
upon  the  sparrow  in  tenderest  compassion  when  it  falleth, 
his  devoted  friends,  every  one  with  streaming  eyes,  turned  sadly 
away ;  believing  that  in  the  balance  of  the  Most  High,  this  man, 
who  to-morrow  must  meet  an  unjust  fate,  was  of  more  account 
than  many  sparrows,  or  than  those  who  had  ensnared  him,  men 
sound  of  mind,  black  of  heart,  devising  only  evil;  and  in  the 
Great  Hereafter  each  should  find  meted  out  to  them  equitable 
judgment. 

June  30th — on  Friday,  between  the  hours  of  twelve  and 
one,  by  the  prison  clock,  Jules  Grieveau,  the  unfortunate  off- 
spring of  untoward  circumstances,  gave  up  his  sad  and  un- 
profitable earthly  life. 

When  marching  to  the  scaffold,  impatient  of  delay,  he 
urged  the  escort  and  accompanying  friends  to  greater  speed,  and 
reaching  the  place  of  doom,  after  a  short  address  to  the  crowd 
assembled  inside  the  jail,  a  prayer  followed  by  the  little  hymn 
"I  Am  Going  to  the  Lordy,"  prepared  in  the  early  morning, 


IVHO   WERE   TO  BLAME.  261. 

all  rendered  in  his  own  peculiar,  insane  fashion,  pathetic  yet 
triumphant,  dropping  a  white  paper  by  preconcerted  signal, 
from  his  pinioned  hands,  at  the  same  time  shouting  loud  and 
clear  until  the  words  rang  through  all  the  jail,  "ready  !  glory  !" 
In  an  instant,  paijilessly^  zvithoict  a  struggle^  Jiardly  a  tremor 
of  the  hody^  the  sjDirit  of  Jules  Grieveau  had  entered  the  realm 
of  the  Unknown,  where  are  gathered  the  sheaves  of  the  Great 
Harvest  Home  of  Humanity;  and  not  with  more  tenderness  and 
compassionate  love,  was  he  welcomed  by  the  angel  mother  who 
had  bestowed  his  earth  life,  than  by  the  Father  God  from  whom 
he  now  received  immortality.  His  "Faith  accounted  unto  Jiim 
for  righteousness." 

In  this  belief,  Lucille,  Gertrude  and  all  who,  knowing  his 
sad  history,  were  moved  to  pity  and  grief,  were  comforted,  and 
they  said,  "When  our  time  comes  may  we  be  'ready,'  and  assure 
of  reaching  'Glory.' " 

Immediately  after  the  barbarous  execution,  and  while  the 
old  guards  who  had  discharged  well  their  trust  in  conveying 
crazy  Jules  to  and  fro  from  the  prison  van  to  the  court  room  in 
safety,  thus  earning  the  gratitude  of  his  friends,  were  gathered 
around  the  carriage  in  which  w^ere  Lucille,  Gertrude  and  Aunt 
Debby  with  Uncle  Tut,  offering  their  honest,  sad-hearted  con- 
dolence to  the  women  convulsed  with  grief,  expressing  admira- 
tion of  their  brave  steadfastness,  wavering  not  to  the  bitter  end; 
inside  the  jail  was  the  horror  being  finished. 

At  the  time  of  his  execution,  the  insanity  of  Tules  being  a 
a  mooted  question,  the  parties  involved  in  the  dispute  agreed 
that  an  autopsy  should  be  performed,  examining  into  the  actual 
condition  of  that  abnormally  developed,  unevenly  balanced, 
queerly  constructed  brain,  which  had  worked  out  such  dire  re- 
sults to  himself  and  others. 

Scarcely  had  the  throbbing  heart  ceased  to  beat,  the  quiver- 
ing nerves  to  vibrate  through  all  their  substance  in  the  birth- 
throes,  as  the  liberated  spirit  took  its  flight,  ere  the  work  was 
commenced,  at  the  instigation  of  cruel,  savage  science,  eager  to 
catch  the  ever  eluding  secret  of  the  why,  the  wherefore,  the 
how,  a  soul  can  influence  matter,  working  out  the  will,  the 
thought,  the  desire,  through  the  delicate,  complex,  wondrously 
formed  tissues  prepared  for  this  end.  So  delicate,  that  however 
little  the  space  intervening  between  the  state  we  call  life,  and 
the  state  we  call  death,  it  seems  to  obliterate  in  greater  or  less 
degree,  according  to  the  time  elapsing,  the  connection  known 
to    exist,    the     impression    disappearing,  so  that    it    is    impossi- 


.262  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

ble  to  determine,  even  by  actual  sight,  by  actual  handling, 
whether  a  given  brain  carried  out  a  sane  or  an  insane  thought 
or  desire,  unless  the  brain  tissue  is  markedly  diseased,  the  con- 
struction of  the  organ  decidedly  abnormal  and  mal-formed. 

Hence  the  haste,  regarded  by  those  not  understanding  its 
importance  unseemly,  that  this  particular  brain  should  be  care- 
fully, quickly  and  thoroughly  examined,  in  the  cause  of  science, 
justice  and  mayhap  vindication,  either  for  the  departed  man,  or 
for  those  w^ho  had  defrauded  him  of  bodily  life. 

The  government  having  the  powder,  had  appointed  their  own 
experts  for  this  work,  and  to  make  the  report  to  the  Press,  so 
that  the  people  might  as  usual  be  deceived. 

The  friends  of  Jules  Grieveau  had  done  their  utmost  in  se- 
curing the  attendance  of  two  physicians  at  the  autopsy,  whom 
they  hoped  would  report  truthfully,  whatever  they  saw,  though 
not  officially,  and  thus  a  record  might  be  kept  of  the  real  facts, 
available  for  future  corroboration  of  their  assertion  in  Jules'  be- 
half. One  of  these  men,  the  confessor  before  mentioned  as  a 
noted  Divine,  was  also  a  most  unscrupulous  politician,  being  one 
of  the  steadfast  "306,"  and  withal  a  medical  professor,  who, 
exhibiting  a  wonderfully  affectionate  interest  in  the  welfare  of 
Jules  while  living,  they  supposed  could  be  trusted  to  act  at  least 
not  adversely  to  his  cause  after  he  was  dead,  but  the  outcome 
proved  him  determined,  as  he  stated  to  Gertrude,  "To  stand  by 
the  President  and  the  administration,  even  though  the  Heavens 
fall."     Faithful  henchman.  Time  should  hasten  your  reward. 

The  other  physician  upon  whom  these  sorely  tried  ones  de- 
pended for  achieving  tardy  justice,  was  the  superintendent  of 
the  Government  Asylum  for  the  Insane.  A  good  and  true  man, 
incorruptible,  who  having  been  requested  officially  at  the  be- 
ginning, while  the  President  still  lived,  and  before  the  changed 
administration  came  into  power,  to  examine  "the  assassin,"  had 
reported  him  "undoubtedly  insane,  a  man  who  should  be  tried 
by  a  lunacy  commission,  not  as  a  murderer,"  and  since  watching 
the  case  persistently,  attending  the  trial  from  day  to  day  for 
his  own  edification,  instead  of  changing,  he  had  repeatedly 
averred  himself  firmly  grounded  in  his  first  opinion  This 
physician,  more  competent  than  any  one  accessible,  had  pur- 
posely been  left  out  of  the  afficial  appointment  for  the  autopsy, 
and  purposely  kept  from  the  witness-stand  during  the  trial ;  the 
Government  knowing  his  report  adverse  to  the  view  of  the 
case  taken  by  the  prosecution,  and  that  his  testimony  would  be 
the  same. 


IV HO   WERE  TO  BLAME.  263 

The  defense,  because  he  was  under  Government  pay  and 
patronage, not  understanding  or  being  acquainted  with  the  man's 
nobihty  of  nature,  feared  to  call  him,  not  daring  to  trust  their 
cause  in  his  hand;  herein  was  their  most  grievous  mistake.  At 
the  last  moment  his  position  was  understood,  but  when  sub- 
poenaed in  sur-rebuttal,  his  testimony  with  that  of  eight  other 
most  important  witnesse^s,  was  not  admitted,  being  ruled  out  by 
the  judge;  the  only  reason  given  being  urged  by  the  prosecu- 
tion, "  this  case  has  already  taken  too  much  time^  and  must  be 
closed.^'' 

Now  of  his  own  accord  this  physician  offered  his  services  in 
attending  the  autopsy  of  Jules  Grieveau,  which  he  did  in  the 
capacity  of  a  privileged  spectator,  afterwards  reporting  the  facts 
to  the  man's  friends,  and  incorporating  the  result  in  a  little  book 
issued  soon  after  the  execution,  named  "  Two  Hard  Cases," 
comparing  this  and  a  similar  one  coming  under  his  observation. 
In  relating  to  Gertrude  the  sickening  occurrence  constituting  the 
finale  of  Jules  Grieveau's  tragic  end,  the  good  doctor,  waxing 
warm,  said,  "  The  moment  the  man's  brain  was  stripped,"  using 
medical  parlance,  "  undoubted  insanity  caused  by  pre-natal  and 
subsequent  conditions,  was  indicated ;  but  although  every  man 
present  knew  this  was  true  beyond  question,  the  Government 
will  if  possible  prevent  the  knowledge  coming  to  the  people. 
Their  experts  will  defer  the  report  for  a  month  or  two,  fixing 
up  a  scientific  diagnosis  for  the  newspapers  w^hich  no  one  but  a 
professional  can  understand,  and  conveying  by  the  heading  and 
italicised  phrases  as  they  well  know  how,  the  idea  to  the  minds 
of  the  people,  that  '  the  assassin '  was  not  crazy  at  all  or  irres- 
ponsible, but  only  'cranky,'  whatever  that  may  be.  There  never 
was  a  surer  instance  of  mal-formed,  diseased  brain;  but  what  I 
tell  you  these  fellows  will  do,"  said  the  doctor,  full  of  wrath. 
And  they  did,  everyone  agreeing  to  promulgate  what  they  knew 
to  be  a  falsehood. 


364  THE  STALWARTS;  OK, 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

ON    THE    SCENT. CORRALING    THE    CONSPIRATORS. — FICTION. 

As  the  vast  crowd  gathered  around  the  jail,  was  dispersing, 
who  should  Uncle  Tut  discover  with  those  sharp,  twinkling 
eyes,  but  his  old-time  enemy,  Silas  Smith. 

He  was  getting  into  a  carriage  accompanied  by  a  gentleman, 
and  carried  Jiimself  with  the  pompous  dignity,  and  magniftcent 
ease,  of  a  man  to  whom  the  world  has  been  forced  to  bow  by 
his  imperious  will  and  undoubted  ability;  but  Uncle  Tuttv 
Swanson,  the  detective,  recognized  him  instantly.  Aunt  Debby 
knew  him  too,  although  her  eyes  were  still  wet  from  weeping. 
Astonished,  Uncle  Tut  saw  that  the  man  with  whom  Silas  rode 
was  none  other  than  the  elegant  Cronksey,  just  returned  from 
a  European  tour,  and  who  had  been  pointed  out  to  him  by  the 
Chief  only  that  morning. 

Uncle  Tut  and  the  Chief  had  by  untiring  diligence  and  en- 
deavor, nearly  succeeded  in  fastening  the  infamy  of  planning 
and  instigating,  indirectly,  the  "removal"  of  the  late  President, 
upon  this  man  Cronksey  and  his  co-workers,  but  there  were 
missing  links,  which  hunt  and  ferret  as  they  would,  could  not 
be  found,  and  without  which  the  chain  of  evidence,  even  cir- 
cumstantial, necsssary  to  convict,  was  incomplete. 

Uncle  Tut  now  said  to  himself,  "Here's  another  of  these  vil- 
lains; we  will  get  them  all  yet." 

Leaving  Aunt  Debby  with  the  other  women  to  the  care  of 
Gertrude's  husband,  who  had  just  come  upon  the  scene,  he  fol- 
lowed the  carriage  closely,  impeded  as  it  was  by  the  crowd; 
when  coming  accidently  upon  Chief  Strong  in  his  private  con- 
veyance. Uncle  Tut  tapped  on  the  glass  door,  which  quickly 
opening,  he  entered  and  in  a  few  words  related  what  he  had 
seen  and  all  he  knew  of  Silas  Smith.  The  two  men  drove  close 
in  the  rear  of  Cronksey  and  Smith  among  the  people  huddled 
together,  who  with  unappeased  curiosity,  elbowed  and  tiptoed 
and  pushed,  straining  every  sense  and  energy,  in  the  vain  en- 
deavor to  compass  still  more  of  horror. 

At  last,  leaving  the  rabble,  the  old  jail  full  of  tragedies,  the 
stretch  of  common,  the  Congressional  Cemetery  and  the  Park 
behind  them,  driving  on  past  the  Capitol,  down  Pennsylvania 


WHO  WERE   TO  BLAME.  265 

Avenue,  the  carriage  containing  the  suspected  parties  persistently 
dogged  by  the  Chief  of  the  Secret  Service  and  his  aid,  though 
eircuitously,  finally  drew  up  in  front  of  one  of  the  old  historical 
hotels  of  Washington,  known  as  "Willard's." 

The  pursuers  arriving  just  in  time  for  Uncle  Tut,  alighting, 
to  overhear  the  order  given  Spideler,  (who  had  been  called  out) 
in  a  Idw  tone  at  the  carriage  door,  to  meet  them  in  an  hour  at 
the  house  of  General  Gascoigne,  bringing  with  him  J.  G.  Bam- 
boozle and  the  Doctor  who  had  so  devotedly  attended  the 
wounded  President. 

They  then  drove  to  the  Court  House  where  Jules  was  tried 
and  sentenced,  calling  for  the  District  Attorney  who  had  pro- 
secuted the  case  in  so  malicious  and  vindictive  a  manner,  and 
who  had  a  few  moments  before  returned  from  witnessing  the 
execution  of  his  victim.  He,  much  to  the  Chief's  surprise, 
brought  with  him  one  of  the  lawyers  who  had  volunteered  for 
the  defense  during  the  latter  part  of  Jules'  trial,  remaining  as 
devoted  to  his  interest  apparently,  as  had  the  confessor,  or  as  had 
the  probing  Doctor  at  the  bedside  of  the  martyred  President. 
Taking  his  seat  beside  the  driver,  the  party  proceeded  to  the 
White  House,  when  the  lawyer  hurriedly  alighting,  ascended 
the  broad  steps,  the  carriage  going  round  to  the  secluded  side  of 
the  mansion,  the  lawyer  soon  emerged,  accompanied  by  a  heavy 
man  with  iron-grey  hair  and  beard,  carrying  a  cane  upon  which 
he  leaned  for  support  as  though  feeble  from  age,  assisting  the 
old  man,  both  hastily  entered  the  carriage. 

The  Chief  and  Uncle  Tut  following  at  a  safe  distance,  were 
again  surprised  to  find  themselves  going  in  an  opposite  direction 
from  Gen.  Gascoigne's  house. 

Uncle  Tut  was  sure  he  heard  aright,  for  he  stood  not  a  foot 
away  when  Spideler  received  the  order.  At  last,  after  making 
several  turns  they  came  up  to  the  house  by  an  unfrequented 
street,  thus  avoidingattention, and  coming  leisurely  up  the  grand 
driveway, entered  from  the  front,  while  Chief  Strong  and  Uncle 
Tut,  who  were  now  in  dead  earnest,  being  sure  they  were  on  the 
right  scent,  were  coming  from  the  back,  in  through  the  garden, 
piloted  by  crazy  Leonard,  Uncle  Tut  making  him  understand 
there  was  no  nonsense  about  their  errand. 

Leonard  would  do  anything  L^ncle  Tut  bade  him,  and  he 
now  conducted  them  to  the  library,  or  rather  to  a  small  closet 
between  this  room  and  the  one  adjoining,  which  was  a  study  or 
office  used  by  Gen.  Gascoigne  exclusively  for  private  business. 
This  closet  was  situated  at  the  end  of  a  narrow  hall,  into  which 


2'66  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

both  apartments  opened,  leading  into  the  garden,  the  shrubbery 
and  vines  coming  close  up  to  the  door. 

The  two  men  hastened  along  fearing  to  meet  any  one,  and 
"hurriedly  entered  the  closet  just  as  the  others  passed  from  the 
front  into  the  study,  soon  being  joined  by  Spideler  and  the 
two  he  had  brought  with  him  from  the  hotel. 

Leonard  remained  with  the  men  in  the  closet,  for  they  dared 
not  trust  him  outside.  He  was  well  content  to  cuddle  down  in 
the  darkest  corner  and  keep  still,  while  Uncle  Tut,  to  whom 
he  was  much  attached,  was  near.  "Yes,  Massa,"  he  whispered, 
"Leonard'll  be  a  good  boy — he'll  keep  still,  hi!  hi!"  he  giggled. 

"Well  ke-keep  st-still  then,  wi-will  you,"  stammered  Uncle 
Tut  under  his  breath,  while  he  alternately  applied  an  eye  or  an 
ear  to  an  aperture  no  larger  than  a  knitting  needle,  through 
the  wall  dividing  the  closet  from  the  study,  by  which  observa- 
tions had  been  taken  before  this,  being  prepared  by  Leonard  at 
Uncle  Tut's  suggestion,  for  if  crazy,  he  understood  enough  to 
take  a  hint  when  the  service  of  a  friend  came  into  the  account. 

Many  a  disjointed  bit  of  information  had  Leonard  carried  to 
Uncie  Tut  and  Aunt  Debby  from  the  house  of  Gen.  Gascoigne, 
as  well  as  from  poor  Jules,  who  had  been  regularly  supplied 
from  his  Uncle  John's  kitchen,  with  comfortable  meals,  carried 
every  day  across  the  common  by  Leonard,  m  one  of  the  tin  cup- 
boards contrived  for  transporting  hot  meals  by  the  cooks  in 
Washington,  where  so  many  transients  dwell  in  rooms,  their 
food  served  by  colored  men. 

This  privilege  Gen.  John  A.  Gascoigne  insisted  upon,  for 
himself  and  for  his  sister's  child,  from  the  authorities,  for, 
although  pretending  to  believe  with  the  populace,  that  Jules  was 
responsible  for  his  act  even  if  a  "crank,"  and  deserved  at  least 
some  punishment,  he  did  not  propose  to  have  him  ill-used  or 
poorly  fed.  His  pretense  as  to  his  nephew's  responsibility  was 
of  course  assumed  to  shield  himself  and  others  from  the  com- 
plications and  dilemmas,  which  they  could  not  otherwise  escape; 
but  he  never  dreamed  his  luke-warmness  in  the  defense,  or 
rather  refusal  to  defend  him,  would  do  more  perhaps  than  any 
one  thing  to  help  along  the  final  catastrophe.  Gen.  Gascoigne 
up  to  the  last  moment,  never  believed  they  would  dare  execute 
his  crazy  nephew,  any  more  than  he  and  the  others  associated 
in  the  great  frauds,  the  scope  and  purport  of  which  they  did 
not  understand,  finding  themselves  forced  to  seek  shelter  from 
the  President,  who  prying  into  hidden  schemes,  was  crowding 
them  from  their  holes — dreamed,  when  they   placed  their  des- 


WHO  WERE   TO  BLAME.  267 

Derate  case  in  the  hands  of  the  great  /  am,  the  unconquerable 
and  unscrupulous  Cronksey,  that  he  would  resort  to  measures 
resulting  in  assassination. 

They  learned,  when  too  late,  the  danger  of  trusting  vital 
matters  to  the  sole  management  of  any  uninterested  person, 
either  tried  friend,  spiritual  advisor  or  legal  counselor.  Each 
must  give  their  special  business  careful  attention  if  they  would 
escape'  disaster.  By  shirking  responsibilities,  we  are  often 
obliged  in  the  end  to  shoulder  greater.  This  is  true  in  a  paramount 
degree  of  leaving  affairs  entirely  to  the  option  of  those  long 
and  successfully  engaged  in  the  legal  profession,  the  first  maxim 
instilled  into  the  aspirant's  mind  being  succeed,  no  matter  by 
what  means,  only  so  that  you  succeed  and  accomplish  the  end 
sought. 

Many  a  noted  lawyer  looking  at  his  processes  from  the  stand- 
point simply  of  a  man!^  would  shudder,  in  contemplating  his  own 
inhumanities .  Why  is  this  ?  Why  have  these  things  come  to  be  ? 
Because  the  technicalities  of  law,  or  rather  of  legal  decisions, 
and  the  practice  of  the  courts  all  over  Christendom,  have  so 
warped  and  corrupted  the  channels  through  which  justice  should 
come  to  us,  that  the  side  possessing  most  power,  either  of  mind, 
ley    or    influence,  wmII,  as    a  rule,  win    without  regarding 


mon( 


equity. 

Hence,  those  involved  in  law  from  any  cause  must  employ 
such  means  as  are  at  command,  or  they  will  likely  suffer  whether^ 
in  the  wrong  or  in  the  right.  And  likewise  a  good  lawyer' 
taking  cases  expecting  to  carry  them  through  to  a  successful 
issue,  when  his  mettle  is  up,  "'scruples  at  nothing,  and  is  some- 
times forced  by  circumstances  to  go  further  than  he  first  in- 
tended. 1     .      r- 

To  return,  our  party  was  now  snugly  ensconced  in  Oen. 
Gascoigne's  private  office;  after  a  hearty  hand-shaking  and  an 
introdu^ction  or  two,  for  all  had  not  before  met,  while  the  gen- 
tlemen \vere  disposing  themselves  about  the  room,  mine  host 
unlocked  a  little  closet  built  in  the  end  of  the  massive  fireplace, 
where  were  stored  choice  wines  and  cigars,  which,  offering  to  his 
guests,  they  proceeded  to  enjoy  themselves,  at  the  same  time 
conferring  together. 

An  incident  here  occurred  which  attracted  ths  attention  of 
the  two  detectives,  each  watching  through  his  own  loop  hole, 
for  they  had  made  a  second,  with  the  strong  wire  left  on  the 
floor  by  Leonard  after  the  previous  operation.  The  sight  which 
met  their  astonished  gaze  was   the  performance  of  the  gentle- 


268  THE  STALWARTS;  OK, 

man  who  had  entered  the  carriage  at  the  White  House,  deHb- 
erately  laying  aside  his  cane  and  the  heavy  over-coat,  which 
gave  him  the  figure  of  a  portly  old  man,  carefully  removing 
his  long  grey  beard,  his  mustache  of  the  same  color,  though 
not  so  white,  also  his  iron  grey  hair,  straightening  himself  and 
at  the  same  time  his  beautiful  brown  mustache,  the  man  was 
seen  to  be  none  other  than  the  elegant  Gerald  A.Johnson,  the 
"accidental"  President  of  the  United  States. 

No  one  present  exhibited  the  least  surprise,  if  we  except  Si- 
las Smith,  who,  when  the  President  was  removing  his  disguise, 
first  eyed  him  curiously,  then  enquiringly,  and  at  last  knowingly^ 
with  a  gleam  of  malicious  hatred  and  sullen  vengeance  flashing 
from  his  snakey   little  eyes. 

Aside  from  this  episode,  which  perhaps  boded  some  un- 
pleasantness, but  was  unnoticed  even  by  the  President  at  first, 
the  party  of  jolly  fellows  seemed  very  comfortable  sipping  their 
wine  and  inhaling  their  fragrant  cigars,  chatting  the  while 
earnestly  and  cheerfully,  with  now  and  then  a  joke. 

Comfortable?  Well,  yes,  almost  comfortable,  even  gay, 
notwithstanding  several  of  them  had  so  lately  witnessed  the  ex- 
ecution of  poor  Jules  Grieveau  whom  every  one  of  them  knew 
to  be  irresponsible  and  insane,  long  before  he  fired  the  fatal  shot 
upon  the  President;  and  every  one  of  them  knew  now,  if  they 
did  not  then,  %vhy  he  did  it.  Every  one  of  these  men  was 
aware  the  deed  had  resulted  in  shielding  them  from  harm;  pol- 
iticians, capitalists,  lawyers,  doctors,  plebians  and  aristocrats 
who  had  become  involved  in  the  "great  scheme"  which  had 
been  contrived  to  defraud  the  government,  which  they  now 
understood  the  dead  President  had  been  determined  to  investi- 
gate, and  to  punish  the  wrong  doers  whether  friends  or  foes, 
and  they  were  also  certain  that  nothing  short  of  his  "removal" 
had  saved  them. 

They  wxre  before  this  almost  sure  in  their  own  minds, 
though  they  dare  not  say  it,  w^io  had  planned  the  dreadful  al- 
ternative for  their  protection;  who  it  was  had  carried  the  poison 
of  assassination,  and  deftly  but  surely  inoculated  the  crazy  brain 
of  Jules  Grieveau  with  the  terrible  inspiration  which  ripening 
and  bursting  forth,  had  horrified  and  sickened  the  whole  world 
by  the  vile  abomination. 

But  now  they  were  almost  comfortable,  although  they  could 
hardly  forget  so  soon,  that  at  the  last  moment  the  poor  fellow, 
by  an  insane  intuition,  had  divined  their  treachery  and  denounced 
as  villains  and  ingrates  those  who   had  deceived  him,  declaring 


WHO   WERE   TO  BLAME.  269 

that  Deity  would  curse  them  for  their  cruel  treatment  of  "God's 
man,"  curse  every  one. 

Yes,  almost  comfortable,  though  in  their  ears  was  still  ring- 
ing loud  and  clear,  Jules  Grieveau's  brave  death  cry,  "Ready! 
Glory!"  Quite  well  satisfied;  they  knew  no  pains  had  been 
spared  by  the  confessor  and  the  devoted  lawyer  (who  both  at- 
tended him  at  the  last),  in  keeping  the  doomed  man  quiet,  and 
preventing  the  revelation  of  any  knowledge  he  might  possibly 
have  acquired,  of  the  real  benefit  resulting  to  those  engaged  in 
the  "great  frauds"  by  the  "removal"  of  the  President. 

He  had  been  at  their  headquarters  before  the  election,  and 
around  the  hotels  where  they  congregated,  even  in  their  private 
rooms  at  hotels  and  boarding  houses,  both  in  New  York  and 
Washington,  and  just  how  much  Jules  had  picked  up,  they  were 
in  ignorance;  but  they  dared  not  ribk  any  future  disclosure. 

They  were  sure  no  one  had  voluntarily  trusted  the  strange, 
erratic  man  with  momentous  secrets,  but  after  firing  upon  the 
martyred  President,  Jules  Grieveau  had  also  sent  a  fatal  shot 
into  their  camp,  when  he  had  shouted,  "I  am  a  Stalwart  of  the 
Stalwarts."  From  that  moment  every  Stalwart  involved  sought 
only  safety  for  himself,  and  Jules  Grieveau's  fate  was  sealed. 
He  had  also  said,  "My  friend  Johnson  will  now  be  President;" 
and  continuing  with  an  impressive  gesture,  "keep  quiet,  friends, 
keep  quiet,  it's  all  right,  the  Deity  and  me's  fixed  it,  there  won't 
be  any  war,  you  can  all  go  home  now,  I'm  going  to  the  jail  un- 
til the  excitement  cools  down;  you'll  all  understand  it  when  you 
see  my  account  of  the  affair  in  the  morning  papers,"  for  he  had 
left  his  documents  with  the  Washington  agent  of  a  Chicago 
Stalwart  organ.  ''Goodbye,  friends,  till  I  see  you  again,  you'll 
understand  my  motives  then,  they  are  for  your  good,  my  friends, 
good  bye,"  as  the  ofiicers  hurried  him  away  from  the  gathering 
and  infuriated  mob;  he,  after  the  climax  and  achievement  of 
his  insane  impulse,  the  calmest  man  among  them. 

This  assumption  that  the  leaders  of  the  Stalwart  clique,  and 
the  man  who  afterwards  became  the  "accidental"  President,  were 
his  friends,  and  would  save  him  in  the  end,  (an  assertion  which 
his  real  friends  could  not  restrain  him  from  reiterating,  for  they 
knew  it  would  hang  him,  and  it  did,)  resounded  through  all  the 
land,  arousing  in  the  popular  mind  *a  suspicion  of  the  truths 
causing  the  nerves  of  every  one  of  the  infamous  crew  to  tingle 
and  vibrate  with  fear.  An  assumption  resulting  on  his  part, 
partly  peihaps  from  insane  egotism, and  Spideler's  indiscriminate 
pandering  to  his  vanity;  a  fear  causing  those  who  were  so  des- 


27 J  THE  STALWARTS;   OK, 

perately  trying  to  cover  their  tracks,  to  act  in  a  manner  which 
only  confirmed  the  suspicion;  showing  by  the  vindictive,  unjust 
prosecution  and  execution  of  their  "scape-goat,"  that  they  dared 
not  let  him  live;  they  knowing  that  a  hint  of  any  of  the  real 
facts  in  the  case,  had  he  discovered  them,  would  be  fatal. 

But  now  yules  Grieveau  was  actually  dead^  his  white  lips 
forever  sealed  beyond  any  possibility  of  divulgement,  and  if  the 
people,  the  only  power  feared  by  politicians  in  this  Republican 
land,  could  be  made  to  believe  that  the  man  who  was  undoubt- 
edly insane,  and  from  his  peculiar  make  up  and  condition,  exactly 
suited  for  their  use,  was,  after  all,  a  responsible,  sane  villain,  who 
had  himself  alone  planned  and  executed  the  deed,  the  entire 
work  undertaken  might  be  said  to  have  been  successfully  com- 
pleted. Hence,  the  care  taken  at  the  autopsy  to  cover  up  the 
truth;  and  they  were  now  assembled  at  the  house  of  Gen.  John 
A.  Gascoigne,  in  spite  of  his  protest  (for  they  had  him  in  their 
power)  for  the  purpose  of  hearing  the  report  of  the  confessor, 
momentarily  expected ;  and  if  necessary  that  any  change  should  be 
made  in  their  program,  after  the  result  of  the  examination  of  the 
brain  and  other  visera  of  Jules  Grieveau,  the  "assassin"  was 
known,  they  would  then  perfect  their  final  plans. 

Yes,  these  men  were  really  quite  easy  and  comfortable  at 
last  over  the  situation,  but  yet  needed  a  few  bottles  of  choice 
wine,  and  a  mild  cigar  or  two,  enabling  them  to  overcome  the 
intense  heat  liable  to  occur  in  Washington  the  latter  part  of 
June,  also  the  nervous  strain  and  depression  to  which  each  had 
been  for  so  long  a  time  subjected.  During  the  year  past  all  had 
been  annoyed,  especially  the  President,  by  a  series  of  unpleasant 
events,  and  as  they  sat  smoking  and  drinking,  waiting  the  arriv- 
al of  the  Confessor,  they  complacently  planned  how  the  re- 
mainder of  thesummer  should  be  spent  now  that  the  business  of 
changing  the  administration,  (though  they  had  got  no  further,) 
and  the  final  disposal  of  poor  Jules  Grieveau  had  been  accom- 
plished ;  and  they  decided  upon  giving  themselves  a  long  holiday ; 
for  the  present  dropping  all  ambitious  schemes. 

Cronksey  and  Smith,  accompanied  by  Spideler,  were  to 
start  immediately  upon  a  European  tour;  the  doctor  thought 
likely  he  would  soon  follow  them. 

While  Jules  lay  in  prison,  Cronksey  and  Smith  had  remained 
most  of  the  time  in  London,  they  getting  away  on  Smith's  fast 
yacht  immediately  after  the  assassination,  deeming  a  foreign 
climate  advisable,  should  by  any  accident  a  denouement  occur. 
Not  having  been  in  Washington  since,  until  now,  it  chanced  that 


WHO   WERE  TO  BLAME.  271 

Smith  never  had  seen  the  "  accidental  "  President  until  the 
meeting  at  Gen.  Gascoigne's.  All  he  knew  of  him  was  the  in- 
formation volunteered  by  Cronksey,  that  he  "  Was  an  old  friend 
who  could  be  trusted,  that  he  had  spent  several  years  in  Aus- 
tralia, returning  long  enough  before  the  election  to  be  eligible 
for  nomination  to  the  vice-Presidency." 

The  President  was  evidently  annoyed  and  depressed,  even 
more  so  than  Gen.  Gascoigne,  the  uncle  of  Jules,  and  he  plainly 
betrayed  his  deep  trouble,  for  he  was  very  sad  at  the  outcome 
of  events.  Neither  entered  freely  into  the  conversation, 
although  the  President  expressed  a  desire  to  visit  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  through  which  he  had  passed  many  years  ago,  he 
said,  "In  mid-winter  when  the  'California  fever'  was  first 
raging,  and  it  would  require  more  gold  than  any  mine  contains 
to  induce  me  again  to  undertake  the  same  experience;  but  I  am 
told  the  trip  is  delightful  in  summer."  At  this.  Smith,  who  had 
from  the  time  the  disguise  was  removed,  been  casting  upon  him 
occasional  sharp  glances,  now  eyed  the  President  intently,  dis- 
turbing him  not  a  little. 

The  President  knew  very  well  who  Silas  Smith  was,  and 
when  they  had  met;  but  hoped  Smith  would  not  recognize  him. 
Now  he  began  to  fear  he  had  or  would. 

This  contingency  was  talked  over  between  Cronksey  and 
himself,  when  the  conference  at  Gen.  Gascoigne's  had  been  de- 
cided upon,  and,  as  many  times  before,  he  yielded  his  own  judg- 
ment to  the  other's  importunity,  consenting  to  risk  the  en- 
counter. 

The  worst  that  could  happen  he  thought  would  be  a  dis- 
covery of  the  man  supposed  to  be  Gerald  A.  Johnson  as  none 
other  than  Henry  Armstrong;  and  Lucille,  her  brother,  Gen. 
Gascoigne,  and  the  rest  might  find  out  the  deception  practiced, 
but  he  hoped  by  some  explanation  as  to  the  changed  name  con- 
nected with  the  inheritance  of  property  to  delay  further  investi- 
gation for  a  time  at  least. 

Cronksey  had  somehow  learned  that  Silas  Smith  was  in 
possession  of  the  fact  of  the  murder  of  his  relative  Wm.  Smith, 
years  before  in  the  "  Rockies,"  and  that  a  man  by  name  Henry 
Armstrong,  had  taken  charge  of  his  will  and  effects,  also  as- 
suming his  name,  but  he  did  not  know  that  against  this  man 
Smith  held  an  old  grudge,  even  more  personal.  Of  this  cir- 
cumstance Henry  was  cognizant  though  not  of  the  other,  fearing 
only  should  his  identity  becomes  known,  a  murderous  attack 
from  Silas  Smith,  but  not  the  disclosure   of  his  whole   secret; 


272  THE  STALWARTS;  OK, 

Cronksej  deeming  it  inexpedient  to  inform  Henry  of  what  he 
had  ascertained,  and  as  to  this  part  of  the  difficulty  Henry  re- 
mained ignorant. 

Both  trusted  Smith  would  not  recognize  his  enemy  in  the 
President,  and  here  they  rested,  Cronksey  hoping  in  any  event 
he  would  estimate  the  great  secret  they  were  now  engaged  in 
hiding  as  of  immeasurable  importance,  compared  with  any  mere- 
ly personal  spite.  Even  Cronksey  failed  to  realize  the  hoggish, 
wolfish  nature  of  the  man,  and  reasoned  that  now  they  were 
involved  in  a  scheme  requiring  concert  of  action  for  self-pro- 
tection, it  did  not  much  matter  if  he  knew  the  whole  affair  with 
every  complication;  not  one  of  the  three,  any  more  than  did  the 
others  assembled,  guessing  the  ramifications  of  the  net  in  which 
they  were  entangled,  or  what  the  result  would  be  when  it  began 
to  unravel. 

They  had  been  so  closely  w^atched  since  the  assassination, 
the  President,  even  before  the  change  of  administration  being 
subject  to  an  irksome  surveillance,  which  had  not  yet  decreased 
on  the  part  of  the  ever  suspicious  people,  with  the  result,  that 
neither  himself.  Gen.  John  A.  Gascoigne  or  the  doctor  who  at- 
tended the  dead  President,  had  dared  absent  themselves  from 
the  capitol  lest  an  intention  of  escaping  detection  should  be  at- 
tributed as  the  motive;  and  Cronksey,  Smith  and  Spideler,  even 
more  certainly  marked  than  they,  had  cautiously  refrained  from 
approaching  the  dangerous  district. 

During  all  the  months  of  the  martyred  Presidents  suffering, 
ending  in  his  death  and  a  changed  administration,  while  Jules 
Grieveau,  the  crazy  fool  who  persisted  in  saying  too  much^  lay 
in  prison  waiting  upon  his  doom,  these  men  wisely  kept  apart, 
not  risking  close  proximity  by  venturing  a  conference;  mes- 
sages sent  by  inconsequential  persons  who  being  in  the  "  ring  " 
could  be  trusted  from  self  interest;  and  the  cypher  dispatch, 
being  their  "  denier  resort."  But  on  this  memorable  day  so 
many  visitors  congregating  in  Washington,  these  wary  schemers 
concluded  upon  meeting  quietly  as  possible  immediately  after 
the  execution  of  the  assassin,  at  the  house  of  Gen.  Gascoigne, 
which  being  situated  in  a  retired  quarter,  they  hoped  to  elude 
notice,  as  the  mind  of  the  public,  especially  of  the  omnipresent 
reporter  and  news-monger  was  sure  to  be  fully  occupied. 
These  starvelings,  who,  vulture  like,  subsist  by  devouring  the 
vitals  of  those  unfortunates  upon  whom  they  light,  having  this 
day  for  once,  their  maws,  their  heads  and  their  hearts  (if  they 
have  any)  and  eyes  and  ears,  and  hands  full ;  obviating  the  neces- 


WHO   WERE  TO  BLAME.  273 

sity  of  breaking  into  any  private  residence,  or  prying  open  sacred 
secrets,  or  defaming  anybody's  character,  breaking  hearts  and 
wrecking  Hves,  in  the  ravenous  hunt  for  items. 

As  the  whole  infamous  business  was  at  last  finished,  except 
the  sham  trial  soon  to  follow  of  those  who  had  been  engaged 
in  the  great  frauds,  and  which  could  now  be  easily  managed 
by  placing  a  relative  of  the  devoted  Doctor  in  charge,  and  who 
had  purposely  been  kept  in  the  back-ground  for  this  service,  to 
be  associated  at  the  proper  time  with  the  ostensible  prosecutor 
for  the  government,  by  collusion,  thus  saving  them,  every  one; 
certainly  in  view  of  all  that  had  passed,  no  less  than  because  of 
liabilities  in  the  future,  a  careful  consultation  was  advisable  at 
this  juncture,  they  must  plan  for  a  conclusive,  final  showing  in 
their  interest,  to  the  people,  providing  for  every  contingency, 
and  agree  upon  a  satisfactory  settlement  among  themselves,  each 
hereafter  going  his  own  way,  carrying  a  terrible  secret,  only 
partly  understood,  certainly,  undivulged  to  the  end  of  his  career, 
if  happily  conscience  should  not  too  hardly  smite  them,  and  re- 
morse wring  from  some  a  confession. 

Surely,  sober  deliberation  was  necessary,  but  before  they 
were  aware,  important  issues  were  foolishly  and  irretrievably 
betrayed  by  weakly  yielding  to  the  demoralization  of  the  mock- 
ing wine. 

Only  Silas  Smith  and  the  President  realized  the  need  of 
moderation;  Silas  was  on  the  scent  of  an  enemy,  and  the  Presi- 
dent felt  himself  watched,  and  he  knew  he  must  be  cautious. 
However,  the  tipsy  crew  waited  patiently  for  the  arrival  of  the 
confessor. 


18 


274  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

THE  CONSPIRATORS  IN  CONFERENCE. — MORE  OF  FICTION. 

On  the  way  from  Pennyslvania  Avenue,  across  to  the  upper 
street,  upon  which  was  situated  the  White  House,  as  the  Presi- 
dent's mansion  is  styled,  and  also  at  the  further  end  of  which, 
quite  in  the  suburbs,  Gen.  Gascoigne  resided;  the  Chief  had 
stopped  at  the  Metropolitan  Police  Headquarters,  and  given  an 
order  for  a  squad  of  picked  men  to  surround  the  house  of  Gen. 
Gascoigne,  as  secretly  as  possible,  so  sure  were  both  himself 
and  Uncle  Tut  that  they  should  now  bag  the  game  for  which 
they  had  so  long  been  on  the  hunt. 

To  Uncle  Tut  the  fact  that  Siias  Smith  was  around,  gave 
conclusive  evidence  that  some  desperate  villainy  was  being,  or 
had  been  concocted. 

In  all  their  searching  for  the  hidden,  mysterious  WHY,  of  the 
terrible  deed  which  had  been  committed,  and  of  the  subsequent 
conduct  of  those  who  had  been  placed  in  power  by  the  change 
it  had  wrought,  they  had  not  until  now  encountered  him,  or 
mistrusted  any  connection  on  his  part  in  the  work. 

They  knew  of  Smith's  prominence  in  financial  matters  per- 
taining to  the  government,  his  gigantic  speculations,  rather 
frauds,  and  that  occasionally  in  his  interest  apparently,  some 
mysterious  power  manipulated  public  opinion  at  will,  through 
the  medium  of  the  press  associations;  and  although  they  had 
recognized  a  similar  influence,  working  adversely  to  Jules,  both 
before,  during  and  after  his  trial,  from  the  fact  of  Smith  being 
much  of  the  time  in  London,  choosing  that  citadel  of  capitalists 
as  a  center  of  operations  for  his  schemes,  they  had  not  connected 
him  in  their  minds  with  the  trouble,  supposing  the  enemy  had 
his  lair  nearer  home  among  the  political  tricksters  with  which 
this  country  is  infested. 

But  now  that  he  had  been  discovered  in  the  intimate  com- 
panionship of  one  whom  they  could  almost  prove  to  have  been 
the  prime  mover  of  the  plot,  they  wondered  at  their  own  stupid- 
ity in  not  before  suspecting  his  agency,  at  least  in  the  control  of 
telegraphic  matter,  as  it  was  w^ell  understood  he  held  a  monopoly 
of  the  lines  of  communicatioTi  throughout  the  United  States. 

Now  that  their  attention  was  directed  to  him,  they  were  quite 


lVI/0  WERE  TO  BLAME.  275 

sure  his  personality  had  permeated  the  whole  diabolical  mystery 
from  the  beginning. 

Just  here,  for  a  moment,  the  Chief  and  Uncle  Tut  were  di- 
verted from  their  observation  of  the  men  in  the  little  study,  by 
the  arrival  of  Lucille,  Gertrude,  Aunt  Debby  and  Gertrude's 
husband,  in  the  private  carriage  of  Mistress  Julia  Gascoigne, 
which  she  had  kindly  sent  that  morning  to  take  them  to  the 
jail,  as  they  insisted  upon  being  as  near  as  possible  to  poor  Jules, 
in  his  trouble  at  the  last.  His  Aunt  Julia  had  done  all  she  dared 
from  the  first,  all  she  could,  without  compromising  her  husband 
in  the  position  he  had  as-^^umed. 

Driving  in  through  the  garden,  the  ordinary  entrance  for  the 
family,  the  party  were  welcomed  in  silent  grief  by  Julia,  and 
taken  directly  to  the  library  where  they  were  to  rest  a  short 
time  for  condolence  and  sympathy  before  retiring  to  the  rooms 
which  Julia  had  begged  that  Lucille  and  Gertrude  should  oc- 
cupy during  the  remainder  of  their  sojourn  in  Washington, 

*  Little  Elsie  came  rushing  in  from  the  nursery  where  she  had 
been  left  with  the  children,  (upon  hearing  her  dear  mamma  had 
arrived)  and  throwmg  her  arms  about  the  neck  of  one  and 
then  another,  tried  to  comfort  with  her  childish  philosophy. 
"Don't  cry  Mamma,  Uncle  Jules  gone  straight  to  Heaven,  sure, 
he  said  the  Lord  would  take  care  of  him,  and  that  he'd  punish 
those  naughty  men,  don't  cry,  he  didn't  want  to  stay  here,  he 
wanted  to  go  to  the  'Lordy,' don't  cry,"  and  the  little  girl  patted 
and  stroked  and  kissed  their  wet  faces,  until  the  weeping  eyes 
'were  finally  dried,  and  they  could  talk  composedly,  of  the  poor 
dead  boy's  life,  of  his  mother  and  dear  old  Grandpa  Gascoigne, 
both  gone  so  many  years.  Happy  Jules  had  met  them  in  the 
Better  Land,  seen  them  face  to  face,  even  while  those  who  loved 
him  for  their  sakes,  were  grieving  over  his  sad  fate. 

Said  Aunt  Debby,  who  w^as  an  old  woman  now,  "  I  declare 
to  it,  Gertrude,  if  that  Elsie  o'  yourn  ain't  the  complete  picture 
of  yourself  when  you  were  her  age,  just  the  same  golden  hair, 
and  the  same  eyes;  wouldn't  good  Dr.  Gascoigne  have  doted  on 
the  little  pet?  Come  here,  honey,"  taking  the  child  on  her  lap, 
"  tell  me  about  your  kittens,  I  know  you've  got  at  least  a  dozen, 
you  wouldn't  be  your  mother's  girl  if  you  haven't,  you  must 
come  over  and  see  my  'Tommy,'  he  beats  any  cat  you  ever  did 
see."  And  thus,  so  soon  was  the  trouble  passing  out  of  mind 
to  live  only  in  memory. 

The  eyes  and  ears  of  the  Chief  and  Uncle  Tut  were  again 
intently  fixed  upon  the  men  in  the  study;  the  Confessor  had  ar- 


276  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

rived,  and  gathering  around  him  they  listened  to  the  report  of 
the  autopsy  just  completed  at  the  jail. 

The  wine,  too,  was  beginning  to  make  them  talk  freely,  and 
it  was  of  the  utmost  importance  to  know  what  they  were  saying. 

The  Confessor  reported  that  the  uncovering  of  the  brain 
had  shown  one  side  much  larger  than  the  other,  strangely  de- 
veloped and  out  of  shape,  that  the  substance  itself  had  under- 
gone changes  indicating  disease,  especially  the  covering  show- 
ing chronic  inflammation,  the  autopsy  proving  conclusively  mal- 
formation at  birth,  which  could  only  have  resulted  in  insanity; 
that  the  man  had  been  more  or  less  insane  all  his  life  because 
of  pre-natal  conditions. 

The  autop.sy  was  carried  even  further  at  the  insistence  of 
the  superintendent  of  the  asylum,  at  Washington,  who  as  the 
Confessor  pettishly  said,  "  Sat  watching  us  like  an  old  grey 
eagle  ready  to  pounce  down  at  the  least  provocation.  I  tried  to 
stand  so  he  could  not  see,  but  he  deliberately  left  his  position 
and  came  over  examining  everything  carefully,  crowding  hirn- 
self  in  without  invitation.  We  dared  not  remonstrate,  for  the 
old  Doctor  is  independently  rich,  and  cares  neither  for  Govern- 
ment patronage,  the  criticism  of  the  Press  or  the  snubs  of  his 
fellow  professionals  when  he  gets  on  a  scent.  If  you'll  believe 
it,  he  deliberately  declared  the  man  unmistakably  insane,  and 
towering  his  full  height,  his  keen  eagle  eyes  fairly  piercing  us 
through,  he  turned  full  upon  us  and  said,  '  Gentlemen,  every 
one  of  you  know  that  man  to  have  been  from  birth  tending  to 
incurable  insanity.  Now,  gentlemen,  let  us  finish  this  work 
properly,  that  there  may  be  no  question  as  to  this  fact;  examine 
his  heart  and  lungs,'  actually  directing  the  remaining  examina- 
tion himself,  when  the  President  had  requested  me  to  act  in 
special  capacity  for  his  protection,  though  I  was  not,  of  course, 
officially  appointed;  that  would  not  have  answered  the  purpose. 
Grieveau's  friends  might  have  insisted  upon  some  other  phys- 
ician being  present  had  they  suspected  me. 

"  But  what  could  I  do?  The  old  doctor  would  have  floored 
me  in  a  minute  had  I  remonstrated,  and  all  the  others  too;  he's 
a  giant  in  size  and  a  terror  in  strength  when  he  starts  in.  We 
just  had  to  let  him  have  his  own  way.  He  found  the  heart  en- 
larged, the  lungs  hepatized  and  with  tubercular  deposit,  the 
spleen  atrophied;  thus  contradicting  the  testimony  of  our  ex- 
perts on  the  trial,  who  swore  every  one  that  the  man  was  per- 
fectly healthy.  Of  course  all  this  must  in  some  way  be  kept 
from  the  people.     It  will  never  do  to  let  them  know^  we  have 


M^HO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  277 

hung  a  crazy  man  after  all.  They'll  think  there  is  something 
wrong  then,  sure.  I  told  them  all  to  keep  still  and  mysterious, 
and  use  some  confoundedly  long,  unknowable,  supposed  to  be 
medical  term,  in  talking  to  the  reporters  who'll  flock  around  us, 
and  tell  them  we'd  give  them  a  written  report  in  a  few  days. 
In  the  meantime  we  can  contrive  something  among  us  which 
even  the  most  learned  professor  of  medicine  will  be  mixed  up 
and  puzzled  over,  and  which  no  ordmary  reader  can  interpret, 
and  we'll  head  the  paper,  "  The  Assassin  was  sane^''  and  that'll 
end  the  whole  disagreeable  business,  thank  the  Lord.  The 
worst  of  it  is  that  old  grey  eagle  threatens  to  write  a  book  giv- 
ing an  account  of  '  The  Trial  and  the  Autopsy^  the  truth  as 
I  saw  it^  he  will  call  it,  and  if  he  does  all  our  fine  plans  will  be 
knocked  into  '  pi ;'  but  it  will  take  some  time  to  get  out  a  book^ 
we  may  all  be  dead  before  then.  If  he'll  only  keep  still  and 
write  his  book  we're  safe  enough;  the  people  will  forget  about 
this  business  soon  and  be  after  some  other  craze.'* 

And  thus  these  villains  consoled  themselves. 

Spideler,  not  being  used  to  high  living,  as  it  would  unfit  him 
for  his  master's  service,  was  beginning  to  talk  more  than  Cronk- 
sey  cared  to  hear,  but  he  found  it  impossible  to  control  him. 

Coming  up  familiarly  to  the  elegant  Cronksey,  Spideler, 
slapping  him  on  the  shoulder,  broke  out  with,  "  I  say,  Cronk- 
sey, we  did  a  slick  job  that  time,  didn't  we?  About  the  best, 
hey?" 

Cronksey  winced  visibly,  but  dared  not  repulse  the  disgust- 
ing little  imp  in  his  present  mood,  too  many  of  his  secrets 
were  stowed  away  in  that  round,  shining  pate. 

"  I  sa-ay,  Cronksey,"  holding  on  by  the  lapel  ot  his  mas- 
ter's immaculate  broadcloth,  staggering  and  stammering  drunk, 
*'  I  sa-ay,  Cronksey,  you  ought  to  pl-plank  hie-down  an-hic- 
nother  ten  thousand  for-hic-me  on  that.  Everything-hic-all 
right  and  safe  now-hic-mum's  an-hic-oyster.  He'll  never  sq- 
hic-squeal  now.  Oh!  no,  he'll  never  sq-hic-squeal  now,  the 
doctors  have  been-hic-clean  through-hic-that  crooked  head-hie 
-of  his,  you  bet  he'll  never  squeal-hic-now.  I  say,  Cronksey,  gi- 
hic-give  me  your  check  while  the-hic-thing's  fresh-hic-strike 
while  the-hic-iron's  hot,  is  my  motto;  de-hic-delay's  dan-hic- 
dangerous,  dang  it,  gi-hic-give  me-hic-your  check-hic-I  say,  or 
hic-PU  squeal-hic-my-hic-self,  I  will,  dang  you." 

And  to  quiet  the  man,  Cronksey  took  out  his  check-book, 
tearing  a  check  off  the  stub,  handing  it  to  Spideler.  The  man, 
though  drunk,  knew  more  than  Cronksey  thought  he  did,  and 


278  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

taking  the  check  to  the  window,  scanned  it  closely,  leaning- 
against  the  casing  for  support;  looking  where  the  signature 
should  be,  and  not  finding  the  name,  Spideler  called  angrily  to 
Cronksey  with  an  oath  to  come  over  by  the  window,  in  front  of 
which  the  writing  table  stood  and  sign  the  check. 

Hoping  to  appease  the  irate  man,  Cronksey  crossed  over  to 
the  table,  intending  if  necessary  to  sign  the  paper,  but  before 
he  could  do  so,  his  hand  was  arrested,  his  eye  riveted — paralyzed 
by  a  most  appalling  sight.     *     *     * 

While  this  scene  was  transpiring  between  Spideler  and 
Cronksey,  Silas  Smith  was  tantalizing  the  President  to  the 
point  of  torture. 

He  would  commence  a  conversation  leading  by  slow  degrees 
up  to  the  night  of  the  fight  at  the  claim,  and  the  President  as 
persistently,  would  politely  but  decisively,  by  his  answers  lead 
away  from  it;  Silas,  the  while  eyeing  him  as  a  cat  when  she 
has  the  rat  in  her  power,  or  as  a  tiger  toying  with  its  prey  be- 
fore making  the  final  spring. 

With  Silas  Smith  the  desire  to  satisfy  a  bloodthirsty,  cruel 
spite,  was  stronger  than  the  instinct  of  self-preservation.  He 
would  have  visited  vengeance  upon  this  man  who  had  so  nearly 
been  his  death  that  night  of  the  desperate  fight  years  ago,  even 
if  himself  sure  to  be  killed  in  the  encounter. 

Revenge  was  sweeter  to  him  than  aught  that  life  contained, 
even  than  life  itself. 

After  the  report  of  the  Confessor  had  been  listened  to,  and 
during  the  lull  in  the  proceedings,  each  waiting  for  some  one 
else  to  make  a  suggestion  as  to  the  future  conduct  of  those 
present.  Gen.  Gascoigne  and  the  Confessor,  not  noticing  the 
others,  were  talking  soberly  and  sadly  together  of  poor  Jules' 
last  hours,  his  implicit  faith  in  Deity  and  his  own  inspiration, 
amounting  to  an  insane  delusion;  his  loving  confidence  in  his 
Confessor,  who  said  *'  I  tell  you.  General,  I  really  became  at- 
tached to  your  crazy  nephew,  and  I  can't  have  the  heart  to  deny 
his  last  and  constant  request,  that  I  should  embody  all  his  writ- 
ings and  sayings  in  a  book,  which  he  imagined  would  set 
him  right  *in  history,'  but  I'll  have  to  go  over  them  all 
carefully,  and  expunge  anything  detrimental,  (to  the  book  I 
mean,  of  course,)"  said  the  Confessor,  giving  Uncle  John  a 
knowing  look  which  they  both  evidently  understood,  "for  we 
must  stand  by  the  cause  and  the  Administration  if  the  Heavens 
fall.  After  a  while  when  I  have  time,  I'll  take  the  papers  he 
left,  which  you  know  belong  to  me  under  the  will  signed  and 


WHO  WERE   TO  BLAME.  279 

corroborated  by  yourself  and  sister,  (another  exchange  of 
glances)  ''down  to  Florida,  they'll  be  safe  there  on  my  planta- 
tion, and  I  can  look  them  over  and  prepare  the  book  at  my 
leisure." 

"  All  right,  all  right,"  answered  Gen.  Gascoigne.  "  I  leave 
all  these  matters  to  you,"  only  too  glad  was  he  to  shirk  the  re- 
sponsibility and  dismiss  all  thought  of  his  dead  sister's  wronged 
child  from  his  mind.     Surely  was  he  in  pitiable  trouble. 

Still  another  conversation  was  going  on  between  the  two 
lawyers  and  the  doctor,  who  did  so  much  of  that  cruel  probing 
after  the  bullet  had  lain  undisturbed,  until  nothing  could  bene- 
fit the  sick  man. 

"  I  suppose,  Bloaty,"  said  the  doctor,  "  there'll  be  no  slip 
about  my  getting  that  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  for  my 
services,  just  as  soon  as  Congress  convenes  in  the  fall? 
If  I  can  be  sure  of  it,  some  of  my  friends  w^ill  advance  $5,000 
or  so  and  I'll  be  off  to  Europe  with  Cronksey  and  Smith,  for 
I'm  sadly  in  need  of  rest.  Fact  is  I  am  completely  exhausted. 
I'd  no  idea  the  President  would  hold  out  as  he  did,  it  was  won- 
derful the  grip  that  man  had  on  life.  I  tell  you  his  constitution 
and  endurance  were  astonishing;  nothing  but  the  poison  of  that 
bullet  could  have  done  the  job.  Poor  fellow,  how^  he  suffered.  I 
did  all  I  could  to  save  him  after  I  came  to  know  his  noble  nature, 
but  the  business  was  done  before  the  first  twenty-four  hours  had 
passed,  and  no  hope  for  him  then.  I  wouldn't  undertake  another 
such  case  for  one  hundred  thousand  dollars,  no,  not  for  a 
million!  It  was  terrible,  terrible."  And  the  worn  and  de- 
bilitated doctor  wiped  his  smooth,  intellectual  brow  with  a 
sky-blue  silk  handkerchief  and  sighed. 

And  the  pompous  little  attorney,  who  prided  himself  upon 
his  remarkable  physical  likeness  to  the  great  Napoleon,  ans- 
wered v^^ithout  hesitation,  "  Certainly  you'll  get  it  according  to 
understanding.  The  people  surely  will  not  refuse  to  requite 
suitably  the  devoted  physician  of  their  dead  President.  Leave 
that  all  to  me,  I'll  see  it  through  when  Congress  meets  and  send 
you  the  check  for  the  amount  if  you'll  leave  your  address  with 
colored  Sam  my  factotum.  Sam  and  I'll  attend  to  it.  You 
needn't  delay  a  day  on  account  of  the  money,  you'll  be  sure  to 
get  it,  all  in  good  time." 

But  although  the  pompous,  self-suflicient  little  bloat,  nothing 
doubted  of  his  own  ability  to  compass  an  end,  some  people 
remarked  ivhen  Congress  met^  that  it  required  rather  more  than 
one  little   man,  even  possessed  of  a  factotum  to  run  the  whole 


280  THE  STALWARTS;  OK, 

country^  and  that  the  people  had  something  to  say  about  paying 
the  worthy  doctor's  Httle  bill;  at  any  rate  in  the  manner  he 
wished  and  expected,  but  he  received  his  pay  in  the  end  surely. 

"  And,"  chimed  in  the  disinherited  lawyer,  who  had  been 
so  ready  with  his  services  on  the  defence,  "  how  about  my  fees, 
Bloaty?" 

"  You  mustn't  forget  me.  I'm  not  sure  but  those  devoted 
friends  of  the  'vile  assassin'  would  have  gotten  him  into  an 
asylum  after  all,  at  the  very  last,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  me  and 
the  Confessor  there,  we  both  worked  hard  that  last  week  I  can 
tell  you.  That  little  sister  of  his  had  secured  a  string  of  names 
a  yard  and  more  long,  signed  to  a  petition  for  the  President, 
asking  him  to  commute  the  sentence  to  life  imprisonment,  life 
imprisonment,  ha!  ha!  his  life  would  have  been  short,  I  reckon, 
which  she  was  bound  to  t^ike^  herself \v\  pei-son  to  the  President. 
A  pretty  kettle  of  fish  we  should  have  had  then,  dori't  you  think 
so?  Ha!  ha!  we  had  to  tell  her  all  sorts  of  stories,  false  as  hell 
of  course,  to  keep  her  away  from  him,  myself,  the  Confessor 
and  her  Uncle  John.  She's  a  holy  terror  when  she  gets  started 
on  a  track  she  thinks  is  right;  about  as  crazy  as  her  brother 
Jules  on  matters  of  conscience,  but  we  managed  her  among  us 
all,  and  that  confounded  jDetition  never  saw  the  light  or  got 
near  the  President,  the  Confessor  and  I  took  care  of  that. 

"  He's  soft-hearted  you  all  know.  Look  at  him  now,  he's 
as  pale  as  a  ghost  and  trembling  from  head  to  foot  as  though  he 
actually  saw  Jules  Grieveau  or  the  dead  President  come  back  to 
him.  We  feared  if  the  little  sister  or  lovely  Miss  Gascoigne 
got  at  him  with  their  imploring,  beseeching  ways,  he'd  cave 
after  all,  and  give  us  all  away,  but  it's  over  now,  thank  the 
Lord  or  the  Devil,  as  you  please,  and  we  can  breathe  easy." 

"  Yes,"  said  J.  G.  Bamboozle,  who  seemed  by  natural  fitness 
to  be  the  spokesman  of  the  party,  and  had  faced  about,  drawn 
down  his  face,  not  forgetting  his  leering,  "evil  eye,"  and 
hemmed  and  hawed  in  the  vain  endeavor  to  clear  his  throat  of 
a  lump  which  threatened  to  annihilate  his  voice.  "And  now  if 
you  are  ready  we  will  attend  to  the  business  for  which  we  are 
assembled.  Gentlemen,  this  solemn  occasion  upon  which  we 
meet,  the  memorable  day  when  we  have  witnessed  the  execu- 
tion of  '  the  assassin  '  of  our  beloved  and  lamented  President, 
calls  for " 


IVHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  281 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

WHAT  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN THE  MOB. 

"Henry  Armstrong,  as  I  live!  Now,  you  villain,"  cried 
Silas  Smith,  "  I'll  have  your  blood  and  your  life,  as  you  tried 
years  ago  to  take  mine!" 

And  before  anyone,  even  the  President,  mistrusted  his  in- 
tentions. Smith  had  made  a  spring  for  Henry's  throat. 

As  they  grappled,  Gen.  Gascoigne  heard  the  name  Henry 
Armstrong — the  name  of  the  man  who  had  defrauded  his  beau- 
tiful, noble  sister  Lucille  of  her  best  young  love,  had  wrecked 
years  of  her  life;  and  he  there,  the  "  accidental  "  President  was 
Henry  iVrmstrong!  Surely  no  honorable  man  would  have  re- 
ceived the  suffrages  of  a  great  people  under  an  assumed  name, 
under Jalse  colors.  And  this  man,  this  Gerald  A.  Johnson,  was 
the  one  who  had  been  instrumental  in  getting  him  into  the  toils 
of  the  conspirators,  as  in  his  own  mind  Gen.  Gascoigne  had 
come  to  regard  his  associates,  into  the  meshes  of  a  net  of  steel 
wrought  chains,  from  which  he  found  it  impossible  to  free  him- 
self, even  though  his  dead  sister's  crazy  boy  had  been  sacrificed. 

Surely  this  Henry  Armstrong,  this  Gerald  A.  Johnson,  must 
be  a  double-dyed  villain;  and  upon  the  impulse  of  the  moment, 
as  insane  perhaps  as  the  delusion  of  poor  Jules,  Gen.  Gascoigne 
fired,  and  Henry  Armstrong,  who  was  getting  the  better  of 
Smith,  fell  bleeding  from  a  ghastly  wound  in  the  head,  inflicted 
by  the  General's  sure  aim;  and  he  did  not  stop  at  this,  the  one 
insane,  reckless  deed,  sent  him  into  a  frenzy  of  excitement,  for 
stung  by  remorse,  and  with  a  sudden  premonition  that  now 
retribution  was  coming  upon  them  all,  that  the  curse  of  Jules 
Grieveau  was  to  be  verified — he  placed  the  muzzle  of  the  pistol 
at  his  own  heart  and  fired  again. 

The  shooting  and  the  instant  confusion  ensuing  scarcely  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  the  two  men  at  the  window.  Spideler 
was  stupid  with  wine,  and  only  stared  vacantly,  mumbling  to 
himself,  stammering,  and  with  the  drunken  hiccough,  about  the 
check.  "I'll  sq-hic-squeal,  I  will,  Cronksey,dang  you."  And 
Cronksey,  whose  eyes  now  beheld  from  the  open  window 
where  he  stood  spell-bound,  frozen,  paralyzed;  a  sight  which 
blanched  his  face  till  it  was  colorless  as  white  marble,  and  his 


282  THE  STALWARTS;    OR, 

brow  was  clammy  with  the  dew  of  fear,  would  at  that  moment 
have  signed  ten  thousand  checks,  even  the  whole  of  his  immense 
fortune,  away,  could  it  have  procured  his  escape  from  that  spot 
where  were  centered  upon  him  wrathful  glances,  menacing 
swift  vengeance,  from  the  congregated  seething  mass  of  human- 
ity outside. 

The  people  having  somehow  heard  the  rumor,  that  a  party 
of  the  much  talked  of  conspirators  had  been  discovered  holding 
a  conference  at  the  residence  of  Gen.  Gascoigne,  the  assassin's 
uncle,  a  mob  was  gathering  in  front  of  the  house,  and  Cronk- 
sey  well  knew  his  time  had  come,  and  that  there  would  be  no 
respite. 

Some  little  time  before  the  attack  of  Smith  upon  Henry 
Armstrong,  the  Chief,  leaving  Uncle  Tut  with  crazy  Leonard 
in  custody,  to  watch,  himself  slipped  out,  hidden  by  the  vines 
and  shrubbery,  through  the  garden,  joining  his  men  stationed 
around  the  place  in  ambush;  and  seeing  the  mob  gathering^  had 
dispatched  orders  for  the  whole  available  police  force  to  report 
at  once  on  the  grounds  of  Gen.  Gascoigne. 

Soon  after.  Uncle  Tut,  hearing  the  shots,  and  seeing  the 
commotion  in  front  through  a  crack  in  the  door  which  had 
been  left  for  ventilation,  no  longer  able  to  restrain  his  impetuous 
nature,  had  rushed  out  from  the  hiding  place  into  the  study, 
just  as  the  women  came  running,  screaming  in  alarm,  from  the 
library  across  the  hall,  aiming  also  for  the  scene  of  the  disaster. 

Rushing  past  those  who  were  striving  to  come  out,  not 
knowing  what  they  wanted  except  to  escape  from  violence, 
blood  and  distress,  Lucille  was  the  first  to  enter  the  room,  where 
she  was  encountered  by  the  appalling  sight  of  Henry  her  lost 
love,  lying  apparently  dead  before  her,  upon  the  floor.  One 
thought  only  possessed  her,  to  go  to  him,  raise  him  in  her 
arms,  clasp  his  bleeding  head  to  her  heart,  while  she  implored 
him  to  speak  to  her,  look  at  her.  Slowly  the  wounded  man 
opened  wide  his  eyes,  and  with  a  deep  sigh  of  happiness,  mur- 
mured, *'My  darling,  my  life — "  sinking  instantly  away  again 
in  a  faint  like  unto  death. 

Gen.  Gascoigne,  who  had  but  succeeded  in  wounding,  not 
killing  himself,  gazed  upon  his  sister  and  her  lover  with  a  dazed 
e-xpression,  as  though  he  were  losing  his  mind,  but  he  was  quite 
too  weak  to  express  his  astonishment;  Julia  was  now  bending 
over  her  husband,  oblivious  to  the  surroundings,  and  in  real  grief 
at  his  sad  plight. 

When  the  police  heard   the   sound  of  firing,  they  suddenly 


WHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  283 

appeared  like  the  locusts  of  Egypt,  everywhere,  and  before 
anyone  knew  what  was  happening,  the  supposed  conspirators 
and  all  in  the  room  were  under  arrest. 

Uncle  Tut  had  already  tackled  Silas  Smith,  and  Aunt  Debhy 
seeing  her  husband  through  the  open  door  in  the  midst  of  the 
melee,  had  tried  her  best  to  rush  in  and  rescue  him,  but  being 
encumbered  with  little  Elsie  in  her  arms,  Aunt  Debby  was  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life  too  slow,  and  the  door  was  closed  against 
her. 

But  crazy  Leonard,  quicker  than  Aunt  Debby,  catching  a 
glimpse  of  Spideler,  sprang  through,  and  wnth  the  exclamation, 
"Bless  de  Lord,  dar's  my  ole  massa  at  last,  shoah,  let  me  eat  de 
debil,"  Leonard  leaped  upon  the  man,  who,  drunk  as  he  was, 
knew  enough  to  try  to  escape  from  danger,  and  had  reached  the 
threshold  of  the  room  ;  as  a  wild  beast  springs  upon  its  prey,  and 
before  any  one  could  could  prevent  him,  Leonard,  in  his  frenzy, 
had  bitten  Spideler's  nose  clean  off. 

There  is  no  telling  how  much  more  of  his  individuality 
would  have  been  sacrificed  upon  the  shrine  of  vengeance,  had 
not  the  men  of  the  force  taken  Leonard  away. 

The  reinforcement  ordered  by  the  Chief  had  now  arrived, 
and  numberless  men,  mounted  and  on  foot,  were  on  the  premises 
ready  for  any  emergency,  and  as  it  proved  in  good  time,  for 
when  those  on  the  outside  heard  the  shots  wnthin,  they  made  a 
rush,  and  every  man,  woman  and  child  must  have  met  a  fearful 
fate,  had  not  the  police  restrained  the  unreasoning  wrath  of 
the  mob. 

Sooner  than  it  can  be  told,  the  Chief  had  surrounded  the 
house  by  a  force  scrong  enough  for  their  protection  as  well  as 
safe-keeping.  Only  Cronksey  came  to  any  real  immediate  harm. 
Beset  upon  all  sides,  partially  recovering  from  his  trance  like 
state  of  fear,  trying  to  shun  the  danger,  every  moment  growing 
more  imminent,  he  foolishly  jumped  from  the  open  window  to 
the  ground,  which  the  mob  seeing,  broke  pell-mell  through  the 
garden,  breaking  down  shrubbery  and  even  small  trees,  in  their 
haste  to  get  at  the  man  whom  they  believed  morally  guilty  of 
all  the  deviltry  enacted  in  connection  with  the  great  frauds,  and 
the  assassination  of  the  President.  Upon  him  for  the  time  was 
concentrated  all  the  hate  felt  for  a  Benedict  Arnold,  who  in  the 
first  revolution  had  fried  to  betray  us  to  the  English,  for  an 
Aaron  Burr,  a  Jefferson  Davis,  for  every  traitor  who  has  sought 
to  overthrow  our  government,  be  he  erring  countryman  or  for- 
eign potentate. 


284  THE  STALWARTS;  OK, 

In  this  desperate  strait,  Cronksey  endeavored  to  evade  his 
pursuers,  by  secreting  himself  among  the  shrubbery,  but  soon 
ten  men  stood  in  the  places  of  each,  bush,  vine  and  tree  de- 
stroyed; being  thus  hardly  pushed,  rushing  from  cover  to  cover, 
as  a  hare  hunted  to  its  death,  the  wretched  man  essayed  to  scale 
the  wall,  but  in  this  attempt  also  he  failed,  for  reaching  the  top, 
han2:inor  on  by  the  iron  spikes  set  closely  together  along  the 
edge,  those  nearest  in  the  crowd  dragged  him  fiercely  down, 
not  heeding  the  lacerated,  bleeding  hands  used  only  to  dainty, 
gentlemanly  work.  At  last  the  rabble  had  him  in  their  clutches, 
hesitating  not  to  end  his  life  in  the  roughest,  most  precipitous 
manner. 

Before  the  corpse  w^as  finally  left  dangling  from  the  con- 
venient lamp-post,  the  elegant  and  altogether  exquisite  Cronksey 
that  was,  had  been  utterly  despoiled  of  every  attraction,  and 
none  who  had  known  him  in  life  would  have  recognized  the 
hideous  cadaver,  above  whose  head  w^as  placed  the  words,  "Be 
it  thus  to  all  conspirators  and  traitors  forevermore." 

Crazy  Jules.  Grieveau  made  a  better  appearance  when  the 
doctors  had  finished  their  v/ork  and  composed  his  remains  to 
rest,  lying  peacefully  in  that  upper  room  of  his  prison  home, 
dressed  neatly,  with  the  placid  smile  which  had  settled  upon  his 
face  when  the  spirit  took  its  flight;  and  keeping  him  company, 
the  fair  flowers  which  Gertrude  and  Lucille  had  placed  above 
his  breast;  than  did  the  man  of  wonderful  intellect  but  depraved 
heart,  whose  dead  body  hung  helplessly  there  that  night  in  the 
ghastly  moonlight,  wnerdly  swinging  to  and  fro  in  the  midnight 
breeze,  with  a  look  of  hate  and  terror  imiprinted  upon  the  dis- 
torted countenance,  the  last  impression  left  upon  the  inanimate 
clay  by  the  sin-steeped  soul,  departing   to  meet  its  God. 

When  the  mob  w4iich  had  gathered  at  Gen.  Gascoigne's,  (as 
the  rumor  at  first  whispered,  and  then  flying  wildly  from  mouth 
to  mouth,  spread  and  was  corroborated,  that  the  men  suspected 
of  complicity  in  the  "removal"  of  the  martyred  President,  had 
been  discovered  while  in  conference  and  heaid  to  confess  to  one 
another  their  scheme,  and  that  their  arrest  was  about  to  be 
made,)  had  satiated  their  fury  upon  Cronksey  the  typical  con- 
spirator and  traitor,  they  dispersed  contentedly,  leaving  the 
others  to  the  care  of  the  police  and  the  troops,  who  had  also 
been  called  into  requisition. 

After  the  turmoil  subsided,  surgeons  were  sent  for,  and  Gen. 
Gascoigne,  Henry  Armstrong  and  Spideler,  who  was  certainly 
one  of  the  wounded,  were  removed  to  comfortable  quarters  in 


WHO  WERE   TO  BLAME.  ^85 

the  General's  residence,  and  placed  under  care  of  the  doctors 
and  women,  but  of  course  as  closely  guarded  prisoners.      . 

Lucille  begged  to  remain  with  Henry,  who,  recovering  from 
his  faint  when  the  flow  of  blood  had  been  stopped,  and  was 
now  able  again  to  speak,  suplemented  her  request.  The  con- 
sent of  the  guards  was  readily  obtained  through  the  interposi- 
tion of  Chief  Strong,  w^ho  had  disclosed  himself  to  the  stricken 
family  of  his  old  time  friend.  Dr.  Gascoigne,  assuring  them 
that  the  course  his  oath  of  ofhce  required  him  to  take  towards 
them,  had  been  a  great  grief,  still  continuing,  and  furcher,  he 
hoped  that  when  they  came  to  the  examination.  Gen.  Gascoigne, 
the  President,  and  perhaps  some  of  the  others  under  arrest, 
would  be  able  to  prove  their  innocence  of  actual  crime,  either 
in  the  first  or  second  degree;  time  and  evidence  must  determine 
this  point,  his  duty  now  was  to  the  commonwealth,  in  the  ex- 
ercise of  his  prerogatives,  he  would  deal  as  gently  as  possible 
with  those  in  his   charge,  especially  with  the  wounded  men. 

It  w^as  found  that  neither  the  President  or  Gen.  Gascoigne 
had  been  fatally  injured,  and  as  Lucille  nursed  Henry  through 
that  long  illness,  so  painful,  and  which  several  times  came  near 
ending  in  death,  such  perfect  happiness  and  peace  came  to  both, 
as  is  seldom  experienced  by  mortals,  and  Lucille  was  fully  re- 
paid for  all  she  had   endured. 

They  conversed  when  Henry  was  able,  of  what  each  had 
experienced  during  the  long  years  of  sadness  and  trouble,  and 
as  Lucille  recounted  her  longings,  her  sorrows  and  her  fears, 
his  love  for  her  grew  to  adoration.  He  was  never  tired  of 
watching  her  as  she  moved  about  the  room,  arranging  every 
minutia  with  regard  for  comfort,  convenience  and  taste ;  and  his 
eyes  would  follow  her  beseechingly  if  she  did  not  come  near 
enough  to  his  bed-side  every  few  moments,  that  he  mig^ht  grasp 
her  hand  in  silent  caress,  and  she  had  no  choice  but  to  leave 
what  she  was  doing,  and  go  to  him. 

Lucille's  mature  but  soft  and  loving  touch  would  quiet  his 
pain  when  opiates  failed,  and  he  could  only  sleep  restfully  while 
her  hand  lav  upon  his  brow. 

Many  an  hour  did  she  sit  stroking  tenderly  the  aching  head, 
or  pressing  lightly  the  feeble  pulse,  watching  closely  every 
symptom,  when  the  patient  was  at  the  worst,  but  in  spite  of 
sickening  dread,  fatigue  and  anxiety  over-powering,  Lucille  had 
never  been  so  supremely  happy  and  contented  in  all  her  life. 
Certainly,  Henry's  countenance  now  that  he  was  canvalescent, 


286  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

indicated  only  joy  when  his  eyes  rested  upon  Lucille,  though 
there  'was  still  a  look  of  deep  trouble  when  she  was  not  near. 

John  too  lav  for  weeks  upon  a  bed  of  pain,  and  Julia  tended 
her' husband  faithfully,  if  not  with  the  absorbing  love  of  Lu- 
cille's'  ministry  at  Henry's  bedside. 

When  Julia  understood  that  in  the  elegant  Gerald  A  John- 
son, who  had  captivated  her  fancy  and  temporarily  aroused  her 
passion,  Lucille  had  found  her  lost  lover,  Henry  Armstrong,  she 
ceased  to  regard  him  as  other  than   Lucille's  affianced  husband. 

Women  such  as  Julia,  take  a  desperate  liking  for  various 
men,  and  are,  for  the  time  being,  in  earnest,  but  they  are  in- 
capable of  a  devoted,  lifelong,  enthusiastic  affection,  enduring 
through  poverty,  sickness  and  adversity,  through  evil  repute, 
sometimes  even  in  spite  of  unkindness. 

But  although  naturally  of  a  vain  and  frivolous  nature,  Julia 
was  coming  at  last  to  appreciate  her  husband  in  some  degree, 
now  that  she  had  seen  his  patient  good  temper,  during  a  long 
siege  of  pain  and  discomfort;  and  these  two  felt  themselves 
growing  together  as  they  traveled  life's  pilgrimage  side  by  side. 

Juha's  honest  passion  for  a  man  so  lovable  as  Henry  Arm- 
strong, had  softened  and  sweetened  her  cKaracter;  for  even  a 
disappointing  love  is  better  than  none  at  all,  and  besides  the  real 
grief  she  had  passed  through  of  late,  had  made  her  more  con- 
siderate towards  all  with  whom  she  came  in  contact. 


WHO  WERE  TO  BLAME,  2b7 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

GEN.  GASCOIGNE's    STORY. CONSPIRATORS    INDICTED. 

As  the  wounded  men  were  now  recovering,  the  minds  of 
all  reverted  to  the  causes  producing  the  catastrophe  which  had 
befallen  them,  the  assassination,  the  rumors  of  conspiracy,  the 
execution  of  the  crazy  scape-goat,  the  unwise  meeting  for  con- 
ference, and  finally  the  arrests;  and  Gen.  Gascoigne  was  glad  to 
relieve  himself  from  the  distressing  strain  of  self-imposed  se- 
crecy, by  relating  to  the  Chief  all  he  knew  of  the  bearing  of 
recent  events  upon  the  points  at  issue. 

He  made  a  clean  breast  of  his  connection  with  the  great 
frauds;  how  for  a  long  time,  he,  with  many  others,  did 
not  understand  that  they  were  frauds,  but  had  been  enticed  into 
these  speculations,  as  they  were  called,  by  the  smooth  tongues 
and  blandishments  of  Cronksey,  Silas  Smith  and  Spideler, 
drawing  them  in  little  by  little,  until  all  their  available  capital 
was  invested,  and  ruin  was  upon  them  unless  the  scheme  could 
be  pulled  through.  ''But"  said  Gen.  Gascoigne,  "I,  long  ago, 
withdrew  from  the  whole  business,  and  am  a  poor  man  to-day." 

With  flashing  eye,  the  gallant  General  related  how  these 
men  spared  not  even  the  honored  General-in-Chief  of  the  army, 
who  had  led  the  country  on  to  final  victory  in  the  late  civil  war, 
and  should  have  been  exempt  from  their  sacreligious  touch ;  how 
by  their  mercenary  machinations,  he  was  induced  to  squander 
the  competence  secured  by  his  friends  for  an  old  age  coming 
fast  upon  him ;  and  besides,  his  connection,  though  indirectly ,  with 
them,  had  cast  a  blot  upon  his  fair  name,  which  could  hardly 
be  removed,  and  "For  this  injury  to  him  and  to  me  as  well," 
said  the  General  hoarsely,  "no  consideration  can  ever  atone." 

Gen.  Gascoigne  recounted  too,  how,  finding  themselves  un- 
able to  cope  with  the  magnitude  of  the  venture,  and  realizing 
their  desperate  predicament,  they  had  with  one  accord,  assented 
to  the  suggestion  of  Cronksey  and  Smith,  conveyed  through 
Spideler,  that  they  leave  the  whole  affair  to  them,  they  manag- 
ing it  their  own  way;  their  way,,  resulting  in  blacker  villainy 
than  any  had  imagined  possible.  How,  when  too  laie  for  a 
remedy,  although  mistrusting  what  that  wickedness  was,  hav- 
ing no   actual  proof    upon  which   to  bring  those  they  believed 


288  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

guilty  to  justice,  and  dreading  an  epoch  of  dangerous  public 
excitement,  should  a  disclosure  be  attempted,  they  had,  with 
one  accord,  waiving  consultation,  decided  upon  remaining  pas- 
sive, and  deeming  it  futile  to  beat  against  the  current,  hopelessly 
ilrifting  with  the  tide,  as  a  sure  result  which  might  easily  have 
been  foreseen,  they  had  struck  at  last  upon  the  rocks. 

Not  one  had  been  willing  to  take  the  responsibility  of  cast- 
ing a  fire-brand  into  the  minds  of  the  already  suspicious  popu- 
lace, for  a  terrific  explosion  was  almost  certani  to  follow,  which 
might  rend  into  fragments  the  republic,  and  although  this  was 
exactly  what  Smith  and  Cronksey  had  planned,  the  others  were 
not  ready  for  any  such  outcome. 

"It  were  better  that  Myra's  crazy  boy  should  suffer  an  ig- 
nominious deatii  unjustly,  than  that  such  a  crisis  should  occur," 
said  Gen.  Gascoigne.  Chief  Strong  and  detective  Tutty  Swan- 
son  had  felt  this  truth,  as  they  proceeded  with  their  investiga- 
tions, and  they,  as  well  as  the  guilty  ones,  who  knew  the  real 
state  of  the  case,  trembled  from  day  to  day,  fearing  that  Gen. 
Gascoigne  or  the  President,  whom  they  by  some  means  had 
ascertained  was  formerly  acquainted  with  the  family  of  Jules 
Grieveau,  should  reveal  all  they  knew  or  suspected,  in  their 
endeavor  to  save  him. 

During  the  whole  time  from  the  firing  of  the  shot  until  the 
execution,  these  two  men  were  as  closely  watched  as  Jules  him- 
self, by  their  own  friends;  but  not  before  the  denouement,  did 
any  know  that  the  Cliief  of  the  Secret  Service,  seconded  by 
Uncle  Tut,  the  detective,  was  also  keeping  over  them  a  strict 
espionage. 

Even  now  that  the  arrests  were  made  their  vigilence  did 
not  relax,  and  while  Cronksey  had  met  a  retribution  as  swift 
as  terrible,  and  Silas  Smith,  the  Doctor  and  the  others  were  oc- 
cupying fellon's-cells,  these  two.  Gen.  Gascoigne  and  the  acci- 
dental President,  were  also  prisoners  awaiting  recovery  only  to 
encounter  the  ordeal  of  a  criminal  trial. 

The  speaker  of  the  house  had  been  installed  President  pro  tern, 
in  the  interval  of  that  official's  disability,  and  the  machinery  of  the 
government  was  moving  along  smoothly.  But  the  dear  public,  es- 
pecially the  news-mongers,  were  still  in  trouble,  as  to  the  myster- 
ious shooting  which  occurred  at  Gen.  Gascoigne's  on  the  day  of 
the  arrests.  They  at  first  attributed  the  tragedy  to  jealousy  on 
the  part  of  the  General  towards  the  handsome  President;  but 
when  through  the  garrulous  Leonard  it  transpired  that  Gerald 
A.  Johnson  was  really  an  old-time  lover  of  Gen.   Gascoigne's 


WHO  WERE   TO  BLAME. 


289 


beautiful  sister  Lucille,  (at   the  age   of  forty  accounted    one   of 
the  handsomest  women  in  Washington,)   this  lover,  strangely 
enough,    whom    the    General    had    never   seen,    and    therefore 
did  not  recognize  in  him  the  Henry  Armstrong  who  had  jilted 
his  sister,  in  years  long  gone,  until  iSilas  Smith,  who  also  counted 
hnn  an  enemy,  had  spoken  his   real  name.     When  they  learned 
about  the  horrible  episode  in  the   Rockies,  causing  him  to  pass 
for  years    under    an    assumed  name;  when  the    rumor    gained 
credence  that  the  old    love  and  engagement  had  been  renewed, 
and  that  Miss   Gascoigne  was    devotedly  nursing  the  President 
through  his  dangerous  illness,  although  now   he  was  under  sus- 
picion and  arrest  on   account  of  recent  events,  and    must-  if  he 
recovered,  stand    trial  with   the   others;   when    these  items  had 
been  corroborated,  the  prying    gossips  were  just  .wild  with  ex- 
cited curiosity  to  know  all  the  rest. 

^  As  to  Henry  and  Lucille,  and  why  Gen.  Gascoigne  had  as- 
sailed the  President,  it  was  plain  when  the  mystery  of  the 
changed  name  was  unraveled;  but  for  w^hat  reason  had  he  shot 
himself? 

This  was  never  made  clear  to  the  public,  for  only  the  Chief 
and  Uncle  Tutty  Swanson  and  Gen.  Gascoigne's  immediate 
friends  knew  the  remorse  which  for  so  long  had  been  strainincr 
every  nerve,  rendering  existence  a  burden,  and  culminating  in 
the  attempt  upon  his  own  life.  The  inference  at  last  was,  that  a 
taint  of  insanity  existed  in  the  Gascoigne  and  Grieveau  families 
after  all,  which  was  liable  to  develop  upon  any  sudden  excite- 
ment. 

These,  wnse  in  their  own  conceit,  did  not  stop  to  consider  the 
fifct  that  both  Lucille  and  Gertrude  had  been  under  greater  in- 
tensity of  anxiety  heightened  by  grief ,  than  Gen.  Gascoigne  had 
ever  known,  and  that  without  losing  their  equilibriu}7i  the 
difference  being  caused  by  the  possession  of  a  satisfied,  as 
against  a  guilty  conscience. 

But  the  news-gathering  public  were  sure  they  understood 
the  whole  matter  fully,  and  desisted  in  their  search. 

As  the  President  and  Gen.  Gascoigne  were  recoverino-  rap-" 
idly,  the  country  was  alive  with  expectation  and  exciteirTent  in 
view  of  the  developments  likely  to  occur  at  the  approaching 
trial  of  the  men  who  had  been  arrested  on  suspicion  of  con- 
spiracy to  defraud  the  government,  if  no  worse. 

Just  why  the  party  of  gentlemen  who  had  been  found  at  the 
house  of  Gen.Gascoigne,  enjoying  themselves,  on  the  afternoon 
of  the  execution  of  Jules  Grieveau,  had  been    so   roughly  dis- 


290  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

turbed,  no  one  but  themselves,  Uncle  Tut  and  Chief  Strong,  as 
yet  altogether  knew. 

The  rumor  had  started  when  the  police  were  ordered  to 
surround  the  house  that  a  discovery  of  conspiracy  had  been 
made,  which  seemed  probable  enough,  the  General  being  so 
nearly  related  to  the  "assassin;"  and  it  was  said  also  that  Cronk- 
sey  was  one  of  the  party,  and  the  people  believed  that  were  a 
conspiracy  proved,  this  man  would  without  doubt  be  found  to 
be  the  "ring-leader;"  and  lately  it  had  been  acknowledged,  as 
had  been  asserted,  that  Cronksey  was  own  cousin  to  Myra,  the 
mother  of  Jules  Grieveau;  Cronksey's  father  and  Jules' 
mother  being  descended  from  the  same  English  lord. 
This  fact  exerting  a  peculiar  influence  over  the  boy,  who, 
being  by  nature  a  hero  worshiper,  thought  his  celebrated  rela- 
tive the  crowning  glory  of  the  family  tree,  and  one  of  the 
greatest  men  the  world  ever  saw,  and  under  his  leadership, 
willing  to  go  to  any  extreme. 

Putting  these  items  together,  when  the  house  of  Gen.  Gas- 
coigne  was  surrounded,  the  mob  seeing  Cronksey,  whom  they 
hated  on  general  principles,  they  made  a  rush  destroying  him  in 
a  twinkling,  for  the  time  satisfying  their  revenge;  since  when 
they  had  been  quietly  waiting  for  further  developments  and  for 
the  law  to  interpose  its  powerful  arm. 

In  the  proper  course  of  events  the  men  who  had  been  ar- 
rested. President  and  all,  were  brought  into  the  same  court-room 
where  Jules  Greiveau  had  been  arrained,  tried  and  sentenced; 
and  after  a  preliminary  examination,  those  who  were  found 
with  suspicions  confirmed  by  adequate  proof  were  held  for  trial. 

Such  excitement  was  never  known,  but  the  well  trained 
force  under  the  control  of  the  Marshal  of  the  District,  who  had 
been  an  intimate  friend  of  the  martyred  President,  held  the 
populace  in  check  until  a  thorough  investigation  was  had  suf- 
ficient to  bring  an  indictment. 

The  people  were  not  in  a  mood  for  trifling,  and  watched 
every  movement  made,  determined  that  no  truth  should  be  sup- 
pressed, no  villainy  left  uncovered.  At  this  point  the  slightest 
mistake,  blunder,  or  trickery  would  have,  if  discovered,  brought 
about  an  uprising  of  the  people,  clamoring  wildly,  unreasonably 
perhaps,  for  justice,  for  vengeance. 

Had  they  seen  a  disposition  on  the  part  of  the  authorities  to 
keep  back  any  fact,  or  to  shield  anyone  suspected,  no  power 
could  have  controlled  their  wrath,  and  a  wave  of  anarchy,  riot 
and  bloodshed  must  have  swept  over  the  country,  getting  its  im- 


WHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  291 

petus  from  Washington,  the  center  of  Government,  such  as  has 
never  been  experienced  on  this  continent;  distrust,  reigning  sus- 
pense, every  man's  hand  against  every  other,  until  our  loved 
Republic  sinking  under  a  military  dictatorship  must  have  gone 
down,  as  sank  the  Roman  Republic,  as  all  Republics  since  the 
w^orld  began  have  disintegrated  and  disappeared,  and  the  fair 
goddess  of  Liberty  despoiled  of  her  rightful  home,  defrauded  of 
her  children,  gone  weeping  through  all  the  Earth,  homeless, 
childless,  dying. 

Happily  for  the  present  and  the  future,  for  ourselves  and 
for  posterity,  was  this  calamity  prevented.  In  this  instance 
those  having  power  were  as  honestly  in  earnest  to  discover  the 
truth,  and  have  absolute  justice  measured  out  to  the  guilty  and 
the  innocent  alike,  as  were  the  people  themselves. 

The  Chief  of  the  secret  service  with  the  power,  the  facts, 
the  case,  in  his  own  hands;  had  no  intention  anyone  should  es- 
cape deserving  of  punishment,  or  that  any  should  suffer,  being 
innocent. 

Such  confidence  had  the  people  in  this  man  and  his  integ- 
rity, as  well  as  ability,  they  waited  patiently  while  the  facts  he 
had  accumulated  were  being  unfolded  and  the  guilt  placed 
where  it  belonged. 

By  this  man's  wisdom  and  careful  prudence  at  this  critical 
juncture  of  national  affairs  was  the  excitement  controlled,  dis- 
trust removed,  confidence  in  the  Government  restored,  and  dis- 
aster for  the  time  at  least  averted. 

It  was  found  that  although  these  with  others  had  blindly 
placed  their  money  in  the  hands  of  Smith  and  Cronksey,  to  be 
used  in  the  furtherance  of  the  great  frauds,  meaning  only  to  in- 
vest in  a  legitimate  speculation,  no  one  knew^  of  what  was  in  the 
mind  of  Cronksey  except  Smith,  the  doctor  his  old  friend  of  the 
western  claim,  and  Spideler. 

Mob  law  had  already  disposed  of  Cronksey,  and  it  only  re- 
mained to  be  seen  what  should  be  done  with  the  doctor.  Smith 
and  Spideler. 

Spideler  soon  settled  the  matter  as  to  himself  by  turning 
States  evidence.  Since  Cronksey's  demise  Spideler  seemed  to 
have  come  to  himself,  and  to  have  recovered  the  slight  degree 
of  manhood  originally  belonging  to  him,  at  best  very  little,  but 
quite  as  much  as  could  be  expected  of  a  man  who  would  treat 
his  faithful  servant  as  Spideler  had  used  poor  Leonard. 

Even  with  this  added  testimony,  the  proof  brought  before 
the  Grand  Jury  upon  the  preliminary  investigation  could  not  be 


292  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

construed  as  criminating  anyone  living  except  Smith  and  the 
doctor;  Cronksey  being  dead  and  vSpideler  giving  evidence 
w^hich  could  not  be  dispensed  w^ith,  only  Smith  and  the  doctor 
were  finally  arraigned  for  trial. 

It  turned  out  that  the  accidental  President  and  the  others 
had  allov^ed  themselves  to  be  thrown  into  a  state  of  inorbidjear 
of  the  populace  although  really  guilty  of  no  crime  or  complicity 
with  C7'ime^  but  only  Jrightened  at  the  connection  which  they 
knew  could  be  shown  betzueen  themselves  and  tzvo  men  whom 
they  suspected  of  the  blackest  villainy ;  a  hint  of  which  getting 
into  the  popular  mind  would  they  feared  bring  dire  results. 
The  suspicion  had  already  lodged  and  hence  the  extreme  caution, 
even  to  the  disguise  of  the  President  when  going  to  attend  the 
conference  called  by  Cronksey. 

When  the  announcement  was  made  that  Silas  Smith  and 
the  doctor  only  were  indicted,  one  as  an  instigator,  the  other  as 
accesory  to  the  "removal"  of  the  late  President,  the  people 
were  well  satisfied,  cheer  after  cheer  went  up,  nothing  could 
stop  them  in  the  manifestation  of  wild  exultatioui 

As  for  the  General  in  Chief  of  the  Army,  he  had  long  been 
the  idol  of  the  people  and  they  would  believe  nothing  ill  of  him. 

Gen.  Gascoigne  was  scarcely  less  a  favorite,  and  all  Wash- 
ington at  least  adored  the  handsome  accidental  President  who 
had  by  a  sad  tragedy  been  made  the  Chief  Magistrate. 

As  for  Bamboozle,  there  was  no  direct  proof  against  him, 
although  Cronksey  had  once  accused  him  openly  of  "wrecking 
a  President,"  supposedly  by  failing  to  win  the  man  who  stood 
in  the  way  over  to  their  side  of  the  contest,  thus  preventing  an 
investigation;  a  work  for  which  he  had  been  detailed  by  Cronk- 
sey and  Smith,  and  in  which  they  long  afterwards  came  to  be- 
lieve he  had  played  them  false;  but  the  people  hated  him  for  a 
sly,  tricky,  double-faced  demagogue,  full  of  fraud  and  deceit, 
and  after  a  little,  finding  it  very  cold  over  here  at  home,  he  de- 
parted for  more  congenial  European  climes,  and  was  never 
heard  from  more. 

The  confessor  and  the  attorney  who  had  deceived  poor  Jules 
Grieveau,  suppressing  the  truth  for  the  sake  of  the  pay  received, 
though  no  criminal  process  could  be  brought  against  thern  either, 
yet  in  the  minds  of  the  people,  they  forever  after  remained  un- 
der a  ban  of  reproach. 


WHO  WERE  TO  BLAME, 


CHAPTER  XL. 

TRIAL    OF    THE    CONSPIRATORS. SPIDLER'S    CONFESS'iON. 

The  usual  time  elapsing,  and  the  necessary  legal  formulas 
having  been  obeyed,  Smith  and  the  doctor  were  brought  before 
the  same  Judge  who  sat  upon  the  bench  when  Jules  was  tried 
— a  Judge,  who  against  his  will,  had  been  overpowered  by  pop- 
ular clamor  and  the  strength  of  the  prosecution,  giving  rulings 
adverse  to  Jules  Grieveau. 

A  jury  was  empaneled  and  the  new  district  attorney, 
(appointed  in  the  place  of  Bloaty,  who  had  died  suddenly 
of  an  excruciatingly  painful  disease  brought  upon  him  by  dissipa- 
tion,) assisted  by  the  Attorney  General,  also  newly  installed,  they 
commenced  the  prosecution  of  Smith  and  the  doctox\ 

Spideler  being  sworn  told  how  Cronksey  had  hinted,  the 
only  way  to  save  his  clients,  the  men  engaged  in  the  great  frauds, 
was  by  changing  the  administration,  and  putting  the  Vice-Pres- 
ident in  power.  Said  Cronksey,  *'I  can  manage  him  easily 
enough,  I've  got  a  screw  on  him,  ha!  ha!  and  he's  very  am- 
bitious too;  but  the  man  at  the  helm  now  will  ruin  the  whole 
business;  we  can  do  nothing  with  him,  I've  had  Bamboozle  and 
two  or  three  others  v^orking  with  him  for  a  month;  but  he's 
as  stubborn  as  a  mule.  They've  even  threatened  him,  and  told 
him  plainly  that  sojnething  terrible  uuould  happen^  if  he  did 
not  desist;  but  it's  no  use,  he  won't  budge  one  inch,  but  says  he's 
bound  to  go  straight  ahead — go  to  hell — he  will."  And  said 
Spideler,  "I  saw  what  was  wanted,  and  soon  after,  I  got  a  notice 
to  go  down  to  Washington  and  look  around  and  report  which 
way  the  wind  was  blowing,  and  see  what  had  become  of  that 
*crank'  we'd  sent  on  that  insurance  business;  see  if  he'd  got 
crazy  enough  to  blow  his  own  brains  out  yet,  &c.  Well,"  said 
Spideler,  "I  took  the  hint  as  intended,  and  went  down  to  Wash- 
ington and  talked  'removal'  and  'inspiration'  to  cranky  Jules 
Grieveau,  and  showed  him  the  Stalwart  newspapers,  which  were 
full  of  the  idea  that  the  President  ought  to  be  out  of  the  way,  until 
he  thought  of  nothing  else  night  or  day ;  finally  he  announced  that 
the  'Deity  and  me'  would  fix  everything  up  all  right;  and  then 
I  knew  he'd  go  along  persistently  until  he  had  accomplished  the 
needed  'removal,'  for  you  see  nothing  could   stop   him  if  once 


294  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

he  got  a  notion  of  doing  a  certain  thing,  and  he'd  do  it  his  own 
way  too.  He  would  never  allow  that  any  one  could  advise  him, 
much  less  dictate.  'He  always  knew  what  he  was  about,'  he 
would  declare;  he'd  never  own  to  any  'boss,'  unless  possibly 
'Deity,'  he  always  called  himself  'God's  man,'  and  seemed  to 
regard  the  'Deity'  as  a  sort  of  senior  partner  in  some  great 
business  they  two  had  undertaken  together.  But  he  was  a  man 
who  could  be  influenced,  to  anything,  if  you  went  at  him  right, 
not  letting  him  know  your  purpose,  but  just  filling  his  mind  full 
of  the  idea,  and  then  making  him  think  he  was  doing  it  alone, 
that  the  thought  was  the  outgrowth  of  his  own  wonderful  brain, 
for  this  was  his  estimate  of  himself."  Spideler  did  not  know 
this  was  the  egotism  of  insanity  afflicting  all  disordered  brains, 
unless  the  dementia  tends  to  the  stupidity  of  idiocy,  when  the 
same  thing  shows  itself  in  the  willful,  stubborn  ugliness  so  hard 
to  deal  with;  instead  of,  as  in  the  case  of  Jules  Grieveau,  in 
good  natured  elation  and  extravagance  of  ideas  and  schemes, 
often  leading  to  most  unexpected  and  cruel  deeds;  being  re- 
garded by.  the  insane  perpetrator,  as  eminently  suitable  and  pro- 
per, often  glorying  in  the  accomplishment. 

All  this  Spideler  did  not  understand  from  the  medical  view 
of  the  case;  but  as  he  said,  continuing  his  testimony,  "I  saw 
from  the  first  that  he  was  just  the  man  for  our  work;  and  the 
best  of  it  all  was,  he'd  be  sure  to  claim  the  whole  credit  him- 
self, and  be  so  fearful  of  not  getting  it  all,  he  would  never  ac- 
knovvledge  that  any  one  had  even  so  much  as  hinted  such  a 
thing.  Knowing  him  as  I  did  intimately  for  months,  the  only 
wonder  was  that  he  was  willing  to  divide  the  glory  of  the  deed 
even  with  the  'Deity'  Himself;  ha!  ha!"  laughed  Spideler;  but 
this  unseemly  merriment  was  instantly  checked  by  the  court. 

"  He  was  such  a  kind  of  a  girl-boy,"  said  Spideler,  "  never 
having  practiced  any  manly  exercises,  not  knowing  how  to 
swim,  or  ride,  or  shoot  a  gun,  more  afraid  of  a  revolver  than  of 
the  Devil  himself,  that  I  feared  he'd  never  get  up  courage 
enough  to  fire  the  shot  after  all.  At  last  I  hit  upon  the  thought 
of  the  '  Deity  and  me  '  theory  and  filled  his  mind  full  of  this, 
until  he  believed  that  God  Almighty  wanted  the  President  '  re- 
moved '  to  save  the  country  from  a  civil  war,  and  that  he  was 
God's  chosen  instrument  for  the  work.  This  was  all  right  so 
far,  but  now  another  trouble  suggested  itself;  how  was  I  to  get 
him  in  training  so  he'd  ever  hit  the  mark  when  the  time  came.^ 
If  he  missed  after  I  got  him  worked  up  to  the  point  of  firing 
the  shot,  the  whole  business  would  end  in  failure,  and  I  knew 


IVIIO  WERE   TO  BLAME,  295 

there  wasn  t  one  chance  in  a  thousand  of  our  finding  another 
*  crank 'just  in  \(\?>zoxid!\\\ox\^  just  fitted  for  the  occasion.  And 
hesides,  when  I  received  the  signal,  the  thing  must  be  done 
Jorthzvith,,  without  delay,,  without  mistake — with  no  possibility 
of  faikire — for  there  were  miUions  of  money  involved,  and 
danger  of  a  prison  cell  to  hundreds  of  our  men,  should  the  Gov- 
ernment probe  into  their  secrets,  which  the  incumbent  Presi- 
dent had  avowed  his  determination  to  do,  and  unless  he  could 
be  dissuaded  from  his  purpose,  he  must  go.  This  was  7ny  order 
from  the  'Boss,'  there,"  looking  towards  Smith.  At  this  pointed 
disclosure  from  Spideler — a  low,  muttering  growl,  ending  in 
a  venomous  hiss,  long  and  sharp  and  menacing,  came  up  from 
every  part  of  that  packed  court-room,  and  for  a  few  moments 
it  seemed  that  the  prisoners  were  to  meet  the  fate  of  Cronksey. 
But  it  proved  that  almost  every  tenth  man  was  a  policeman,  so 
thickly  were  they  scattered  among  the  crowd,  besides  the  uni- 
formed force  about  the  prisoners,  the  Judge's  bench,  the  jury, 
the  witness  box,  and  the  doors. 

The  Judge,  rising  to  his  feet,  brought  his  gavel  down  stroke 
after  stroke,  until  the  resounding  noise  diverted  the  attention  of 
the  angry  mob  from  the  prisoners  and  from  themselves,  to  the 
Chief  of  the  Secret  Service,  who  calmly  standing  by  the  Judge 
surveying  the  crowd,  addressed  them,  *'  Gentlemen,  I  trust  you 
will  obey  the  order  of  the  court,  and  the  decorum  of  this  important 
trial,  remaining  quiet  and  patient  to  the  end,  letting  the  law  de- 
cide this  case  according  to  all  the  evidence  produced;  remember 
we  have  heard  only  the  testimony  of  one  man.  I  appeal  to  you 
as  good  citizens,  not  again  to  interrupt  the  Court.  I  give  you 
my  word,,  based  upon  my  oath  of  office,  that  the  /'r2<5/'/^,  whatever 
it  may  be  in  this  case,  shall  be  fully  shown,,  so  far  as  I  have  been 
able  to  secure  the  witnesses  for  the  use  of  the  prosecution." 
This  was  enough,  the  tumult  subsided,  and  the  Judge,  turning 
to  Spideler,  said,  "Let  the  witness  proceed." 

"  Well,  as  I  said,  the  man,  Jules  Grieveau,  didn't  know  how 
to  hold  a  revolver,  much  less^?*^  one;  but  I  got  over  the  diffi- 
culty by  suggesting  that  in  case  we  did  have  a  war,  or  an  up- 
rising of  the  people,  every  man  ought  to  know  how  to  defend 
himself  if  attacked,  and  told  him  he  ought  to  get  a  revolver  and 
practice  shooting  at  a  mark,  which  he  finally  did,  I  going  with 
him,  selecting  one  sure  to  hit  within  a  foot  of  anything  it  pointed 
at.  And  then  he  went  down  to  the  bank  of  the  river  and  shot 
at  fences  and  finally  willow  trees,  until  he  got  so  he  could  hit 
one.     At  first  he  complained  of  the  noise  hurting  his  head,  and 


296  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

as  I  watched  him  from  behind  the  fence  the  first  morning  he 
went '  out  hunting,'  I  laughed  until  I  burst  my  jacket  buttons, 
to  see  him  jump  when  the  iron  went  off.  The  next  day  I  told 
him  to  stuff  some  cotton  in  his  ears,  which  he  did,  and  got  along 
all  right  after  that.  I  kept  him  practicing  at  a  mark  for  about 
two  weeks,  and  he  could  hit  fairly  well  at  the  end  of  that  time. 
But  there  was  too  much  at  stake,  and  I  was  getting  nervous 
myself  at  the  last.  I  had  got  notice  that  when  the  message 
came  over  the  wires,  '  that  murder  was  to  be  preferred  to  sui- 
cide,' I  might  know  the  time  had  come  and  I  must  be  ready  at 
the  depot  the  next  morning  at  nine  o'clock  with  my  man.  As 
I  said,  I  feared  Jules  wouldn't  hit  in  a  vital  place,  if  at  all,  and 
so  at  the  last  moment  I  decided  to  fix  the  bullets  so  if  they  got 
in  at  all  they'd  do  the  work,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  not  to  risk 
the  '  removal '  to  Grieveau's  blundering  aim,  but  I  just  provided 
myself  with  a  good  shooting  iron,  and  when  the  time  came, after 
he  had  fired  twice  as  I  told  him  to  do,  one  shot  hitting  the  Presi- 
dent, and  the  other  a  poor  dog  which  happened  to  be  passing, 
while  Grieveau  was  shouting  and  claiming  all  the  glory,  I 
just  quietly  put  in  a  shot  myself  aimed  at  the  heart  from  the  back, 
and  onlythatthePresident  was  actually  sinking  to  the  floor  at  the 
time,  my  shot  would  have  finished  him;  as  it  was  the  backbone 
w^as  grazed,  and  they  said  the  bullet  passed  down  into  the  ab- 
domen where  it  lay  encysted,  doing  no  particular  harm,  until 
the  surgeons  found  it  after  the  man  was  dead.  I  don't  know 
how  that  was  but  my  bullet  struck  nearly  opposite  the  heart. 
But  the  bullet  I  had  fixed  for  Grieveau,  although  not  touching 
any  vital  part,  did  its  work  too,  the  poiso??ed  bullet  I  mean.  To 
make  the  thing  sure — sure  to  stay — I  had  to  secure  the  services 
of  the  doctor  there,  but  it  took  some  money  for  that  though,  I 
can  tell  you.  The  doctor's  a  great  fellow  for  money,  but  I 
fetchedhim^  and  had  him  at  the  depot  all  ready  on  time  too. 
And  he  stuck  by  to  the  end,  although  it  was  a  longer  job  than 
any  of  us  reckoned  on.  We'd  all  been  glad  to  have  backed  out 
before  we  got  through,  but  we  couldn't — the  die  was  cast — 
there  was  no  retreat.  It  was  a  terrible  piece  of  business  from 
beginning  to  ending.  We  never  really  thought  it  would  have  to 
be  done;  at  any  rate  we  hoped  the  President  could  be  won  over. 
It  was  all  Bamboozle's  fault  that  he  wasn't.  While  we  were 
depending  on  him  more  than  anyone  else  to  bring  this  about, 
he  was  playing  traitor  to  the  cause,  and  just  putting  the 
President  up  to  be  more  contrary  than  ever,  '  widening  the 
breach.'    You  see  he  hadn't  got  over  his  spitef ulness  towards  the 


;f//c  were  to  blame.  297 

leaders,  for  throwing  him  overboard  at  the  Chicago  Convention, 
and  nominating  the  man  w^ho  was  elected,  and  he  meant  to  get 
even  with  them  by  manipulating  the  President  and  running  the 
administration  to  suit  himself.  You  see  it  was  next  thing  to 
being  president.  This  is  what  the  leaders  mean  when  they  say 
'he  wrecked  a  President' — and  he  did. 

"  I  guess  this  is  about  all  there  is  to  tell,  only  I  forgot  to  say 
that  I  told  Grieveau  he'd  better  leave  all  his  papers  and  manu- 
scripts at  the  news  stand,  for  that  agent  connected  with  one  of  the 
Chicago  stalwart  papers  before  he  fired  the  shot,  and  that  I'd 
see  him  set  right  before  the  people  if  he  did;  and  the  poor  fel- 
low obeyed  my  advice  for  a  wonder,  for  he'd  got  mightily  at- 
tached to  me,  he  was  very  affectionate.  You  see  I  didn't  know 
what  he  might  have  been  scribbling,  and  meant  to  get  posses- 
sion of  his  writings.  And  then  it  was  me  suggested  his  going 
to  the  jail  for  safe  keeping.  I  didn't  want  to  see  him  torn  limb 
from  limb  before  my  eyes. 

"  He  wouldn't  consent  at  first,  he  didn't  like  the  idea  at  all, 
and  I  had  to  hire  a  carriage  and  let  him  go  down  and  see  what 
a  nice,  clean,  comfortable  place  it  was,  not  at  all  like  the  old 
Toombs  prison,  in  New  York,  w^here  he  had  once  been  kept 
longer  than  he  liked  on  a  charge  of  vagrancy — not  at  all.  He 
finally  agreed  to  give  himself  up,  immediately  after  firing  the 
shot,  and  go  quietly  to  the  jail  until  the  people  could  be  informed 
of  his  inspiration  and  be  made  to  understand  the  matter.  It 
was  actually  ridiculous  the  way  he  looked  at  the  whole  affair, 
only  that  anyone  knowing  how  simple-minded  he  was  could  not 
help  pitying  the  poor  fellow. 

"  I  believe  this  is  all  I  know  about  the  business,  all  there  is 
to  say." 

At  any  rate  it  w^as  all  Spideler  ever  had  a  chance  to  tell ;  for 
when  the  guards  were  taking  him  back  to  prison  that  night  for 
safe  keeping  from  the  mob,  who  had  declared  their  intention  of 
lynching  the  little  dog,  as  they  called  him;  when  opposite  the 
Capitol,  just  where  a  rascal  protected  by  those  in  power  had 
tried  to  kill  Jules  during  his  trial ;  they  surrounded  the  prison-van, 
as  the  vehicle  was  styled  which  carried  him,  just  as  it  had  so  many 
times  conveyed  poor  Jules  Grieveau;  and  they  tore  him  roughly 
out,  calling  him  a  traitor  even  to  His  friends !  A  murderer !  Using 
means  fit  only  for  a  savage,  or  a  slave-driving  and  torturing  "  Le- 
gree!  "  Exasperated  to  frenzy  at  the  thought  of  all  his  diaboli- 
cal deeds  as  a  slave-owner  and  seller,  as  a  sneaking,  cruel, 
plotting  murderer,  as  the  entrapper  of    the  crazy,  foolish  tool 


298  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

with  which  he  had  accomplished  the  work,  and  all  for  gain, 
from  the  lowest,  most  mercenary  motives;  the  mob  deeming  the 
little  imp  too  low  and  vile  even  for  their  touch,  wrenched  the 
iron  spikes  composing  the  fences  in  the  vicinity  wherevej-  possi- 
ble from  their  fastenings,  and  lifting  the  terror-stricken,  abject 
creature  not  gently  upon  them,  they  tossed  him  from  one  to  an- 
other to  and  fro,  batting  him  about,  applying  heavy  brogans  not 
unfrequently  as  the  spirit  moved  them  to  rougher  work — heap- 
ing all  manner  of  abuse  and  indignity  upon  him,  as  they  had 
a  few  months  before  done  with  Cronksey.  Master  and  servant 
ending  their  worse  than  useless  lives  in  a  similar  way,  each  un- 
mourned,  unregretted  even  by  their  compeers  in  crime. 


U^HO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  299 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

THE    FAIR    EVANGELISTIC    WIDOW HER    STORY.  —  THE 

CONVICTION. 

A  sensation  was  produced  next  day  upon  convening  of  the 
court,  by  the  announcement  of  Spideler's  fate;  and  also  by  the 
appearance  of  another  voluntary  witness  for  the  prosecution, 
whom  a  quickened  conscience  had  driven  upon  the  stand,  in 
spite  of  the  reward  which  the  witness  of  the  previous  day  had 
received  for  his  testimony,  given  with  the  intent  of  shielding 
himself  from  merited  punishment;  which  the  people  understand- 
ing, had  taken  his  case  into  their  own  hands. 

The  new  witness  proved  none  other  than  the  woman  who 
had  been  with  Smith  on  the  "claim"  long  ago  out  in  Illinois, 
passing  as  his  wife,  being  for  years  since  until  quite  recently  his 
mistress.  She  was  also  the  "  fair  widow,"  whom  Spideler  had 
introduced  to  Jules  Grieveau  for  the  special  purpose  of  working 
upon  his  imagination  and  passions,  thus  hastening  the  climax  of 
insanity. 

The  woman  had  it  seemed,  been  honestly  converted  at  one  of 
the  Moody  meetings,  and  truly  repented  of  any  wrong  she 
might  have  done  in  the  past,  and  of  the  part  she  had  unwittingly 
played,  in  influencing  the  mind  of  Jules  Grieveau  to  commit  so 
dreadful  an  act,  as  firing  upon  the  President  of  the  United  States. 

She  now  came  of  her  own  accord  to  Washington,  offering  to 
tell  all  she  knew  of  the  assassination,  in  the  cause  of  truth  and 
justice. 

Her  testimony  was  mainly  against  Smith,  and  being  placed 
upon  the  stand  confronting  him  face  to  face,  this  under  oath, 
was  her  story : 

"  Years  ago  I  met  the  man  Smith,  there,"  pointing  with 
trembling  finger  and  flashing  eye  at  her  victim,  "in  what  was 
then  the  far  west.  I  was  young,  perhaps  attractive,  surely 
honest  and  loving — he  won  my  heart — myself — body  and  soul, 
under  a  sacred  promise  of  immediate  marriage,  which  was  never 
fulfilled;  but  instead  he  took  me  with  him  out  on  a  desolate 
prairie,  where  he  had  staked  a  claim  and  thrown  a  few  boards 
together  which  he  called  a  cabin.     In  this  home  I  was  installed. 

"I  remained  because  I  could  do  no  better.     Shame  prevented 


300  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

my  returning  to  my  own  home.  My  friends  thought  I  had 
been  married  before  going  with  him,  and  being  an  orphan,  hv- 
ing  with  distant  relatives  who  had  httle  sympathy  for  me,  I 
dared  not  return  to  them  with  my  story,  they  never  would  have 
believed  me,  and  I  should  have  been  turned  away  disgraced — 
and  besides,  I  loved  the  man,"  said  the  woman,  tears  now  stream- 
ing from  her  eyes. 

"  We  continued  living  together  as  man  and  wife  for  years 
after,  he  drinking  a  good  deal,  I  following  his  example  to 
drown  my  troubles.  Finally  after  a  desperate  brawl,  into  which 
he  drew  me  trying  to  jump  another  man's  claim,  and  in  which 
he  came  near  losing  his  life,  after  forcing  me  to  swear  falsely  in 
a  lawsuit  over  the  dispute — when  he  had  partially  recovered, 
we  left  the  country  together  still  as  man  and  wife.  I  lived 
with  him  for  years,  he  sometimes  treating  me  kindly,  many 
times  otherwise;  but  persistently  refusing  to  give  me  a  legal 
right  to  bear  his  name  or  call  him  husband. 

"After  a  time  when  he  became  rich  and  powerful,  he  began 
paying  attention  to  other  women,  as  the  fancy  took  him,  and — 
and" — here  the  woman's  trembling  voice  and  tearful  face  proved 
her  emotion,  ending  in  convulsive  sobs,  "he — he  shook  me  off, 
he  broke  my  heart,  wrecked  my  life,  and  now,  I  don't  care  what 
becomes  of  me,  or  what  you  do  with  me — for  I  love  him  still." 

Regaining  her  composure,  she  proceeded:  "After  refusing 
utterly  to  have  anything  more  to  do  with  me,  he  advised  me  to 
'try  some  other  man,' as  he  expressed  it;  and  I  did  try  to  form 
attachments  for  other  men,  but  I  could  not.  I  had  for  so  many 
years  regarded  this  man  as  my  husband  in  fact  if  not  in  law, 
my  whole  existence  being  •  bound  up  in  him  and  his  affairs. 
He  can  be  as  lovely  as  an  Angel  of  light  when  he  chooses,  and 
as  ugly  as  Satan  too,  when  he  likes,"  said  the  woman,  her  eyes 
flashing  again. 

"Although  I  felt  all  the  ownership  any  wife  can  have  in  her 
husband,  he  cunningly  avoided  establishing  a  marriage  holding 
good  in  law,  by  refusing  to  live  with  me  long  enough  in  one 
place  or  allowing  me  to  bear  his  name;  thus  making  me  a  re- 
spectable— self-respecting  married  woman.  All  these  years  I 
was  only  his  mistress;  that  most  degraded  of  all  slaves  to  the 
passions  of  men.  His  mistress!  And  I  would  have  given  my  life 
for  him,"  sobbed  the  woman. 

"At  last,"  she  said,  drying  her  eyes  again,  "I  thought  if  I 
came  across  an  honest,  kind-hearted  man  who  wanted  to  marry 
me,  (for  I  was  still  an  attractive  woman,)   even  though  he  was 


WHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  801 

not  so  smart  or  so  rich  as  that  villain  Silas  Smith  there,  I  would 
unite  myself  with  some  one  and  try  and  forget  my  past  life. 

"Well,  about  this  time  I  met  a  gentleman  to  whom  I  was 
Introduced  by  the  name  of  Mr.  Jules  Grieveau,  a  lawyer,  as  was 
said,  poor  but  honest,  religious  and  a  gentleman,  and  I  assure 
you  he  zuas  a  gentleman  before  he  got  so  crazy. 

"I  had  been  grieving  and  grieving  for  a  long  time  over  my 
dreadful  trouble,  when  one  day  in  New  York  I  wandered  into 
a  place  called  'the  Tabernacle,'  an  immense  structure  erected  for 
the  holding  of  'revival  meetings,'  as  the  gatherings  congregating 
to  listen  to  the  ministrations  of  a  noted  Evangelist,  were  styled. 

"I  had  been  going  about  the  streets  all  day,  trying  to  forget 
myself,  and  being  attracted  by  the  sound  of  a  thousand  or  more 
people  singing  together,  old  fashioned  Methodist  revival  hymns, 
not  caring  much  what  I  did,  but  very  tired,  I  went  in  and  sat 
down. 

"After  the  singing,  which  from  the  number  of  voices  and 
the  hearty  enthusiasm  was  soul  inspiring,  a  man  of  magnificent 
physique  and  powerful  voice,  eyes  large,  black  and  penetrating, 
arose,  and  clasping  his  hands,  kneeled  before  the  great  congre- 
gation, fervently  invoking  the  Divine  blessing. 

"While  the  people  were  recovering  their  breath  almost  taken 
away  by  the  impetuosity  of  the  short  appeal,  a  slender  man,  a 
complete  contrast  to  the  other,  with  fine  features,  noble  brow, 
loving  eyes  of  purest  blue,  a  mouth  tender  and  delicate  as  a 
woman's,  came  forward;  seating  himself  at  a  little  parlor  organ, 
and  touching  the  keys  with  his  long,  white  fingers,  after  a  short 
prelude,  the  marvelously  sweet,  far-reaching,  spiritual  voice  with 
which  the  singer  was  endowed,  entranced  those  hundreds  of 
eager  people,  as  though  by  some  Angel  descended  from  on 
High. 

"The  words,  simple  enough,  were  fervid  and  appealed  di- 
rectly to  the  heart,  'Jesus  Lover  of  My  Soul,  Let  Me  to  Thy 
Bosom  Fly.'  When  the  sweet  singer  had  finished,  tears  were 
streaming  from  many  eyes  in  that  vast  assembly;  my  heart  was 
melted  even  before  the  wonderful  sermon  was  commenced.  A 
sermon  denouncing  sin  but  not  the  sinner,  calling  upon  those 
who  had  done  wrong  to  repent  and  flee  from  the  wrath  to  come, 
from  the  fire  which  consumeth,  to  come  to  Jesus — Jesus  who 
died  to  save — died  that  we  might  live.  At  the  close,  hundreds 
in  response  to  the  final  invitation  crowded  tearfully  about  the 
altar,  I  among  the  number. 

"The  man  who  had  so  stirred   our  hearts  came  down  to  the 


303  THE  STALWARTS;  OR, 

altar  rail,  and  passing  from  one  to  another  gave  each  a  message 
of  admonishment,  of  warning,  of  entreaty,  of  love — the  love  of 
Jesus.  The  magnetism  of  the  man  was  w^onderful.  I  would 
have  died  willingly  for  Jesus  then,  or  done  any  deed  for  Jesus' 
sake,  so  enthused  was  I  by  the  thought  that  Jesus  was  the  lover 
of  my  soul;  that  He  offered  me  love  pure  and  unselfish,  not  the 
disappointing  human  love,  but  the  love  immeasurable,  satisfying, 
infinite  and  Divine,  offered  freoly  without  price,  asking  only 
love  in  return. 

"After  this  I  went  to  the  meetings  every  day,  three,  four 
times  a  day ;  feeding  upon  the  excitement  which  I  found  there. 
One  day  I  met  the  very  last  person  I  should  have  expected  to 
see  in  such  a  place.  A  man  whom  I  felt  to  be  a  villain  of  so 
deep  a  dye  that  scarcely  could  the  blood  of  Jesus  even  make 
him  white.  A  man  whose  sins  I  knew  to  be  as  scarlet,  for  I 
had  often  heard  Smith  and  himself  and  a  man  they  called  Cronk- 
sey,  talking  over  their  plans  together,  and  I  knew  they  never 
mentioned  any  but  their  mildest  schemes  in  my  hearing,  and 
that  they  were  engaged  in  worse  deviltries  than  I  ever  heard  or 
dreamed  of;  at  any  rate  I  was  quite  sure  neither  of  the  three 
were  saints  or  likely  to  become  such,  and  here  was  little  Spide- 
ler  in  company  with  a  man  who  any  one  could  see  at  a  glance 
was  a  regular  devotee,  and  honest  too;  and  Spideler  was  attend- 
ing a  'revival  meeting'  with  this  man — what  on  earth  could  it 
mean  thought  I.  Soon  Spideler  saw  me,  and  my  astonishment 
was  not  greater  than  was  his  evidently;  however,  with  a  quick 
change  of  countenance,  a  peculiar  expression  which  I  had  never 
noticed  before  coming  into  his  face,  he  watched  his  chance, 
edging  around  the  crowd,  and  just  as  the  meeting  was  breaking 
up,  he  managed  to  get  near  me  at  the  door,  and  stepping  up 
with  his  companion,  introduced  him  without  asking  leave,  as 
Mr.  Jules  Grieveau.  He  seemed  a  gentleman  and  Spideler  be- 
ing on  intimate  terms  with  the  man  I  regarded  as  my  husband, 
frequenting  our  room  before  I  left  him,  took  a  liberty  perhaps, 
but  not  an  unusual  one  for  him. 

"  Whenever  I  went  to  the  meetings  after  that  day,  invariably 
vSpideler  and  Mr.  Grieveau  would  meet  me  near  the  main  en- 
trance, a  consummation  seeming  to  come  about  by  design;  but 
as  I  found  my  new  acquaintance  honest-hearted,  kind  and  agree- 
able, I  had  no  objection;  in  fact,  I  soon  came  to  feel  under  ob- 
ligation for  the  introduction,  for  I  was  becoming  attached  to  my 
friend,  Mr.  Grieveau. 

"  He  was  so  entirely  different  from  any   of  the  men  I  had 


WHO   WERE   rO  BLAME.  303 

met.  Absolutely  there  was  not  a  particle  of  the  villain  in  his 
nature.  Other  men  with  whom  I  had  become  acquainted 
through  my  relations  with  Smith  had  been  nearly  all  villains 
through  and  through. 

"After  Spideler  had  established  an  intimacy  between  us,  he 
seemed  satisfied  to  leave  us  mostly  to  ourselves.  We  talked 
much  upon  different  subjects,  and  I  found  him  passably  well- 
informed.  He  had  some  unusual  theories,  and  his  mode  of 
reasoning  was  peculiar;  but  somehow  he  would  arrive  at  pretty 
fair  conclusions  generally— by  instinct  it  appeared  to  me— but 
one  day  he  made  such  a  queer  remark  about  something  after 
there  had  been  great  excitement  at  the  meeting,  that  I  was  really 
startled. 

"From  that  time  I  could  see  that  the  intense  excitement  of  the 
meetings  was  injurious,  and  I  tried  to  disuade  his  constant  at- 
tendance, but  to  no  purpose.  He  grew  more  strange  each  time 
we  met,  and  finally  I  could  see  that  he  was  absolutely  insane 
upon  certain  subjects. 

"  The  idea  of  Divine  direction  had  taken  possession  of  his 
mind,  and  he  refused  to  attend  to  the  slightest  matter  until  he 
had  first  prayed  over  it,  and  he  carried  this  to  a  ridiculous  ex- 
treme. 

"Once,  when  I  remonstrated,  he  became  indignant  and  de- 
clared, that  '  If  in  answer  to  prayer  he  got  the  inspiration  that 
Deity  (as  he  called  God)  w^anted  him  to  kill  anybody,  he'd  do 
it  sure,  if  he  was  shot  dead  the  next  minute.' 

"  This,  and  some  other  things,  opened  my  eyes  to  the  fact 
that  I  was  becoming  attached  to  a  lunatic,  and  I  soon  broke  off 
the  intimacy ;  but  I  never  thought  he  would  harm  anyone,  he 
was  always  so  kind  and  affectionate. 

"  When  I  began  to  repulse  him,  he  was  greatly  distressed, 
and  at  last  followed  me  around  as  a  child  does  its  mother — 
surely  he  was  growing  rapidly  worse — more  insane  each  day — 
but  so  quiet  and  apparently  harmless.  I  really  pitied,  but  could 
do  nothing  for  him,  except,  as  he  seemed  very  poor,  I  often 
gave  him  money;  indeed,  I  now  believe  he  must  have  suffered 
only  for  the  kindness  he  received  from  myself  and  Spideler. 

*"  After  making  some  provision  for  his  immedi^ite  wants,  by 
depositing  a  considerable  amount  in  the  hands  of  Spideler  for 
his  use,  I  left  New  York  to  be  rid  of  him.  I  knew  no  other 
way  out  of  my  foolish  entanglement. 

"  I  heard  nothing  more  of  Mr.  Grieveau  until  the  late  Presi- 
dent was  shot,  when  recalling  his  condition,  and  the  remarks  he 


304  THE  STALWARTS;    OR, 

had  made,  I  cannot  say  the  news  that  he  was  the  assassin  very 
much  surprised  me  although  1  was  deeply  grieved.  Immedi- 
ately I  set  myself  to  the  task  of  helping  him  out  of  the  trouble 
he  was  in,  and  endeavored  to  have  him  tried  for  lunacy  instead 
of  murder;  but  I  soon  found  I  had  undertaken  more  than  I  or 
anyone  could  accomplish. 

"Being  known  as  the  mistress  for  years  past,  if  not  the  law- 
ful wife,  of  so  influential  a  man  as  Silas  Smith,  I  was  not  with- 
out power  with  a  certain  class,  and  after  a  second  trial  was  re- 
fused, I  succeeded  in  securing  many  names  to  be  affixed  to  the 
petition  for  com.mutation  of  sentence  to  life  imprisonment,  which 
was  prepared  to  be  sent  to  the  accidental  President,  but  wdiich 
I  afterwards  understood  he  never  saw. 

"  In  the  course  of  my  investigations,  which  were  commenced 
early  in  the  history  of  the  case,  I  found  out  that  Smith  and 
Spideler  with  someone  behind  them,  had  been  for  a  long  time, 
even  before  the  nomination  of  the  lamented  President,  work- 
ing a  desperate  venture  to  defraud  the  Government  and  the 
people,  a  scheme  which  contemplated  involving  the  country  in 
a  foreign,  if  not  perhaps  also  another  civil  war,  and  that  the  pre- 
dicament of  poor  Mr.  Grieveau  was  the  outcome  of  a  contingency, 
wdiich  had  all  along  been  considered  probable,  in  the  course  of 
events  liable  to  produce  an  emergency. 

"  Smith  had  years  before  this  initiated  me  in  the  duties  of  a 
detective,  and  I  had  helped  him  work  many  a  crooked  transac- 
tion. 

"  I  had  mistrusted  at  the  last  that  the  infernal  scoundral  late- 
ly known  as  A.  J.  Spideler,  Esq.,  had  introduced  me  to  Mr. 
Grieveau  for  the  purpose  of  working  upon  his  passions,  and 
thus  hastening  the  climax  of  an  insanity  all  his  life  slowly  de- 
veloping, and  which  was  nearing  the  point  at  the  time  our  ac- 
quaintance commenced,  when  some  catastrophe  must  occur. 
Bitterly  I  regretted  my  blindness,  for  certainly  when  I  first  met 
Mr.  Grieveau  no  one  would  have  thought  him  more  than  queer, 
more  chan  fanatical,  and  I  now  firmly  resolved,  if  possible,  to 
save  him  from  a  cruel  death. 

"  With  this  thought  I  went  to  Washington,  and  saw  Jules 
Grieveau  in  his  cell.  I  had  no  difficulty  in  securing  this  privi- 
lege as  those  in  charge  seemed  to  know  the  name  of  Silas  Smith, 
even  the  warden  and  the  underlings  of  the  jail,  and  of  me  as 
his  former  mistress  and  confidential  agent.  Up  to  this  time  I 
had  no  quarrel  or  formal  break  with  Mr.  Smith,  although  I 
ceased  to  live  with  him   after  my   conversion,  and   giving    his 


WHO  WERE   TO  BLAME.  -  305 

name  as  my  credential,  it  proved  the  necessary  'open  Sesame' 
to  the  assassin's  cell,  although  at  that  time  admittance  was  re- 
fused to  ordinary  visitors. 

"How^  the  change  w^hich  I  sav^  in  poor  Jules  Grieveau 
shocked  and  horrified  me  I  cannot  describe,  and  can  never  for- 
get; those  incessantly  rolling,  quivering  eye-balls  glaring  wildly 
at  me,  that  worn  haggard  face,  those  manacled  hands,  haunt  me 
still.  Oh !  it  was  horrible !  horrible,"  and  the  woman,  again  over- 
come, covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  wept  aloud.  Soon 
she  went  on: 

"After  the  first  encounter  and  the  excitement  produced  by 
seeing  a  new  face,  whether  friend  or  foe,  he  knew  not,  had 
passed,  Jules  seemed  partially  to  remember  me,  at  least  he  liked 
me  and  trusted  me  as  he  did  no  one  else,  for,  previous  to  my 
visit  he  had  learned  to  distrust  every  one  who  came  near  him. 
This  was  long  before  the  advent  of  the  Confessor,  and  before 
his  sister  or  Aunt  Lucille  had  seen  him;  for  them  also  he 
seemed  to  have  an  almost  natural  affection. 

"The  authorities  of  the  jail  allowed  me  free  access,  suppos- 
ing I  was  a  detective  acting  especially  in  the  interest  of  Silas 
Smith  and  the  'Ring.'  Smith  being  abroad  in  London  had  no 
idea  of  what  I  was  at,  and  those  in  the  secret  who  knew  of 
my  movements  believed  me  working  with  them  ;  for  there  were 
two  others  pretending  friendship  who  were  paid  detectives. 
One  a  former  acquaintance  of  Jules,  in  Chicago,  whose  name, 
no  less  than  his  character,  was  so  nearly  allied  to  Raynard  the 
fox,  and  who,  when  Jules  was  on  trial  for  his  life,  basely  sw^ore 
to  utterances  which  never  came  from  the  lips  of  the  accused  at 
all,  but  which  this  man,  well  rewarded  by  the  prosecution,  de- 
clared he  had  received  from  the  prisoner  in  the  first  gush  of 
confidence  upon  meeting  one  whom  he  had  known  in  better 
days.  Utterances  which  established  the  theory  of  the  prosecu- 
tion, that  Jules  was  a  sane  villain,  himsdf  only  to  blame.  Even 
in  Washington,  during  the  trial,  they  dubbed  this  man  '  The 
Spy.' 

"And  there  was  still  another,  who,  if  he  did  not  steal  money 
from  the  unfortunate,  friendless  prisoner,  a  commodity  of  which 
he  was  destitute,  he  was  certainly  guilty  of  "larceny  as  bailee," 
for  he  took  notes  of  his  case  in  shorthand,  from  which  he  pre- 
pared an  article  for  a  New  York  paper,  devoid  of  truths  receiv- 
ing for  the  same  $500.  An  article  intended  to  work  against  the 
then  utterly  defenseless  man.  Afterward  those  notes  were 
turned  over  to  the  prosecution  to  be  used  as  evidence  against  the 

20 


306  .  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

prisoner,  but  upon  examination  there  was  found  so  much  that 
would  help  instead  of  hurting  his  case,  they  were  destroyed. 
This  same  Bailee  swearing  afterwards  upon  the  witness  stand 
that  he  '  had  destroyed  his  notes,'  for  he  knew  they  would 
contradict  his  testimony.  He,  too,  was  made  to  feel  the 
finger  of  scorn  pointing  at  him  derisively  from  that  court- 
room, for  it  was  said  no  one  who  heard  believed  his  story,  and 
that  he  went  from  the  stand  with  red,  confused,  abashed  count- 
enance, as  did  many  another  witness  for  the  prosecution. 

"However  I  went  every  day  to  see  Jules,  and  at  last  gained 
his  confidence;  as  we  talked,  I  found  that  some  one  had  assured 
Jules  certain  protection,  that  he  should  be  cared  for,  exonerated, 
and  lauded  as  a  hero  if  he  would  go  quietly  to  the  jail,  after  firing 
the  shot  upon  the  President.  He  had  expected  to  be  petted, 
visited  and  made  much  of  by  his  'friends  outside'  as  he  said,  and 
'his  friend,  the  President,'  as  he  called  him;  especially  depend- 
ing upon  this  man,  himself  for  a  long  time  under  duress,  though 
not  actual  arrest;  watched  even  more  vigilantly  than  Jules 
Grieveau,  both  before  and  after  he  became  President.  Jules 
did  not  at  first  know  the  wounded  President  still  lived,  and  evi- 
dently thought  ^his  friends'  had  come  into  power. 

"But  in  all  this  expectation,  poor  Jules  Grieveau  was  doomed 
to  bitter  disappointment.  Not  being  apprised  of  the  true  state  of 
the  case,  not  knowing  why  the  promises  given  him  had  not  been 
kept,  he  had  come  to  distrust  every  one  who  approached  him. 

"But  at  last  by  slow  degrees  I  gathered  that  Spideler  had  been 
the  go-between  who  manipulated  the  crazy  man  for  the  fatal 
work. 

"He  said,  'Spideler  told  me  this,  Spideler  said  that,'  and  I 
got  at  the  fact  that  Spideler  had  for  months  before  the  catastro- 
phe been  filling  the  poor  fellow's  crazy  brain  with  suggestions 
of  the  very  thing  which  happened;  even  directing  him  as  to  the 
minutia,  Jules  not  recognizing  this,  but  thinking  himself  had 
received  the  commission  direct  from  'Deity,'  believing  the  Most 
High  was  inspiring  him  from  day  to  day  in  all  the  'modus  op- 
erandi,' when,  pitiful  to  know,  it  came  from  that  vicious  little 
black  Spideler  as  direct  as  any  man's  thought  and  desire  can 
come  to  another.  o 

"Finally  I  succeeded  in  getting  Jules  to  write  the  things 
Spideler  had  said  to  him,  and  then  in  Jules  Grieveau's  peculiar 
hand-writing  impossible  to  imitate,  for  it  was  in  no  two  words 
alike,  I  went  to  Spideler  with  his  own  statements  and  suggest- 
ions, and  told  him  an  expose  should  follow  if  he  refused  to  help 


WHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  307 

me  save  Jules  from  his  cruel  fate.  'Very  well,  Madam,' said 
Spideler,  'I'll  do  as  you  wish  about  it,  if  you'll  agree  to  save  me 
harmless;  but  you  will  have  to  take  your  choice,  either  Smith 
and  Cronksey  and  the  Doctor  must  hang  or  crazy  Jules  Grie- 
veau.  You  say,  which  shall  it  be.'  And  I  answered,  let  it  be 
the  man  to  whom  neither  life  or  death  can  make  much  differ- 
ence; the  man  whose  insane  fanaticism  will  carry  him  gloiying 
and  happy  into  Eternity;  he  who  will  be  surely  by  death  the 
gainer — but  not  the  man  steeped  in  sin,  whose  soul  must  sink 
in  perdition,  not  the  man  I  have  loved  truly  for  so  long,  not 
him — not  him!" 

And  the  woman  stopped  her  story,  sobbing  and  moaning 
and  wringing  her  hands  with  grief  uncontrollable. 

Even  Silas  Smith,  the  time-hardened  villain,  shed  tears,  and 
was  visibly  affected,  and  in  ihe  court  room  were  very  few  dry 
eyes,  every  heart  seemed  touched  by  the  proof  of  a  love  which 
none  could  doubt. 

"And"  continued  the  witness,  "I  gave  the  paper  Jules  had 
written  to  Spideler  for  safe-keepi7zg,^shits^\d,  and  discontinued 
my  investigation  and  my  efforts  to  save  Jules  Grieveau,  but  the 
remorse  I  have  since  suffered  God  only  knows;  that  haggard 
face,  those  rolling  eyes  are  with  me  night  and  day,  and  his  out- 
raged spirit  walks  ever  before  me  with  imperative  gesticulations 
imploring  to  be  avenged. 

*'I  never  thought  that  they'd  dare  execute  their  victim; 
but  they  did— the  villains!  And  now  I  have  told  all  I  know 
about  It,  and  that's  not  much  without  the  paper;  if  I'd  only  kept 
the  paper,  justice  might  yet  be  done,  and  the  ghost  of  crazy 
Jules  Grieveau  no  less  than  our  martyred  President  at  last  be 
appeased." 

"Has  the  witness  anything  more  to  say?"  asked  the  Judge. 
"Nothing,"  answered  the  woman  faintlv,and  a  moment  after 
she  was  borne  in  the  arms  of  friends  from' the  court  room,  over- 
come and  in  a  deathly  stupor. 

A  murmur  of  sympathy  surged  through  the  crowd,  and  then 
profound  stillness  supervened  as  the  Judge  called  the  Chief  of 
the  Secret  Service  of  the  Government  to  the  stand. 

"Let  Mr.  Strong  be  sworn,"  said  the  Judge  turning  to  the 
clerk  of  the  court 

And  as  the  venerable  Chief  lifted  his  penetrating  eyes,  and 
that  thin  white  hand,  holding  so  much  of  power  and  of  fate  in 
its  grasp,  up  to  high  Heaven,  with  solemn  mvocation  taking  the 
oath  to  tell  the  truth,  the  whole  truth  so  far  as  he  knew  it,  and 


308  THE  STALWARTS;   OR, 

nothing  but  the  truth,  a  feeHng  of  awe  fell  upon  every  heart, 
and  a  sickening  dread  upon  the  guilty  ones  before  him,  until  they 
trembled  and  quaked  with  the  premonition  of  doom. 

"  Have  you  anything  to  introduce  in  evidence,  Chief  Strong  ?" 
asked  the  new  prosecuting  attorney. 

"  Only  a  few  scraps  of  paper,"  answered  the  Chief,  "  corrob- 
orating the  testimony  already  given. 

"One  was  picked  up  on  the  floor  of  Gen.  Gascoigne's  study, 
near  where  the  Confessor  had  been  standing,  by  Mr.  Swanson, 
just  after  the  shooting  and  the  arrest,  and  which  we  had  a  mo- 
ment before  seen  the  Confessor  take  from  his  pocket,  showing 
it  to  Gen.  Gascoigne.  It  confirms  the  testimony  given  by  the 
last  witness  as  to  certain  vague  promises  made  to  Grieveau  by 
somebody,  supposed  to  be  Spideler,  and  which  the  Confessor 
procured  at  the  last  from  him  as  his  whole  statement  of  the  case. 
But  the  sequel  has  proved  that  he  either  could  not,  or  did  not  try 
to  get  the  whole  story  from  the  doomed  man. 

*'  The  second  paper,  also  the  third,  which  I  shall  introduce 
in  evidence,  were  torn  by  Leonard,  pocket  and  all,  from  the 
coat  of  Spideler,  upon  recognizing  and  attacking  his  former  mas- 
ter, by  whom  he  had  been  so  cruelly  wronged. 

"  The  first  of  these  papers  taken  from  the  pocket  of  Spide- 
ler confirms  his  testimony  as  to  the  doctor;  being  a  contract  in 
regular  form,  signed  by  both,  stating  that  for  ce-rtain  indefi- 
nitely described  services  to  be  rendered  the  late  President  the 
sum  of  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  shall  be  paid  by  the  said 
Spideler  when  those  services  are  satisfactorily  completed. 

"  The  second  paper  taken  from  the  pocket  of  Spideler,  is 
the  writing  secured  from  Jules  Grieveau  by  the  former  mistress 
of  Smith,  and  which  she  declares  she  afterwards  gave  to  Spide- 
ler at  his  solicitation. 

"  It  is  a  statement  that  '  Spideler  told  him  not  to  be  afraid, 
but  to  follow  his  inspiration  and  go  ahead  and  do  the  thing  the 
Deity  wanted  him  to  do,  and  that  Spideler  had  promised  him 
that  Cronksey  and  his  friend  Silas  Smith,  Esq.,  would  see  him 
through,  and  that  he  should  have  at  least  a  foreign  consulate, 
and  then  he  could  marry  the  widow,'  as  he  thought  her. 

"  The  fourth  paper  which  I  shall  introduce  in  evidence  was 
found  on  the  floor  of  Jules  Grieveau's  cell,  by  Leonard,  when 
cleaning  up  after  serving  his  dinner  as  ordered  by  Jules'  Uncle, 
Gen.  Gascoigne  Leonard  had  a  propensity  for  picking  up 
scraps  of  paper  and  rags,  '  to  light  the  fire,'  as  he  said,  and  often 
took   them  to  Aunt  Debby  Swanson.      He   also   had  a  strange 


IVHO  WERE  TO  BLAME.  309 

habit  of  decorating  the  cat  named  '  Tommy,'  upon  his  frequent 
visits,  and  for  some  unknown  reason  he  fancied  tying  this  par- 
ticular scrap  on  Tommy's  neck.  Aunt  Debby,  soon  after  his 
departure,  finding  it  and  knowing  the  hand  writing  and  signa- 
ture of  Jules  Grieveau,  very  properly  saved  and  handed  it  to  her 
husband. 

« It  was  a  scribbled  letter  from  Jules  to  Spideler,  threaten- 
ing dire  vengeance  from  '  Deity,'  unless  Spideler  should  come 
to  the  rescue  of  «  God's  man,'  as  he  had  promised,  hinting  that 
the  '  accidental '  President,  Cronksey,  Gen.  John  A.  Gascoigne 
and  several  leading  politicians  and  officials  had  made  promises 
they  had  failed  to  fulfill.  Though  the  paper  contained  no  direct 
proof  of  guilt,  it  was  valuable  as  giving  the  first  clue  we  had  re- 
ceived as  to  the  proper  course  our  investigations  should  take. 
And  from  that  day,  Spideler,  Cronksey,  the  President,  Gen. 
Gascoigne  and  others  were  closely  watched,  but  the  denouement 
did  not  come  in  time  to  help  poor  Jules  Grieveau." 

"  I  believe  you  have  stated  that  you  received  these  four  papers 
from  the  hand  of  Mr.  Swanson,  the  detective.  Chief  Strong; 
is  this  correct?  "  asked  the  prosecuting  attorney. 

"  Yes,  sir,  that  was  my  statement,"  said  the  Chief. 

"  Let  the  papers  referred  to  be  produced,"  said  the  Judge, 
*'  and  have  Mr.  Swanson  sworn." 

This  being  done,  Uncle  Tutty  Swanson  identified  the  four 
papers  as  the  ones  he  had  turned  over  to  the  Chief  at  different 
times  as  he  had  come  into  possession  of  them. 

"  The  first  one  described  by  the  Chief,"  said  Uncle  Tutty 
Swanson,  "  I  myself  secured,  picking  it  up  from  the  floor  of 
Gen.  Gascoigne's  study  after  the  arrests  were  made,  as  stated  by 
Chief  Strong.  The  second  and  third  were  handed  me  by  my 
wife  on  that  day,  in  the  evening,  upon  my  return  home,  she 
telling  that  Leonard  had  brought  them  to  her. 

"  The  fourth  was  given  me  quite  early  in  the  summer,  short- 
ly before  the  execution  of  Jules  Grieveau,  by  my  wife  also,  she 
finding  it  on  the  cat's  neck  after  one  of  Leonard's  visits." 

Finally,  Mrs.  Swanson  was  put  upon  the  stand,  and  stated 
that  she  received  the  second  and  third  papers  from  Leonard,  on 
the  day  of  the  terrible  doings  at  Gen.  Gascoigne's,  as  he  said  "To 
kindle  a  fire  with."  "  And  a  fire  sure  enough  we  should  have 
had  then,  had  I  not  sent  them  by  my  husband  to  the  good  Chief 
there,  for  the  people  were  like  tinder  that  day,'and  a  fire  ending 
in  an  explosion  might  have  occurred,  destroying  the  guilty  and 


310  THE  STALWARTS;   UK, 

innocent  alike,  had  not  the  Chief  kept  all  quiet  until  the  excite- 
ment cooled. 

*'The  fourth  paper  referred  to,  I  received  also  from  Leonard 
in  an  indirect  way,  as  has  been  testified  to,  and  he  told  me  how 
he  came  by  it,"  "That  will  do,  Mrs.  Swanson,  we  cannot  take 
hear-say  evidence  which  cannot  be  confirmed,"  said  the  Judge. 
"If  you  have  told  all  you  know  of  your  own  knowledge,  we 
will  excuse  you." 

Leonard  could  not  of  course  be  sworn,  as  the  testimony  of 
the  crazy  or  idiotic  is  not  admissable  in  a  court  of  justice. 

The  woman  who  had  lived  for  so  many  years  wuth  Smith 
as  his  wife,  and  had  finally,  conscience  smitten,  given  her  testi- 
mony against  him,  having  partially  recovered  from  her  swoon^ 
was  again  called  into  court,  and  under  oath,  identified  the  second 
paper  referred  to  in  the  testimony  of  Chief  Strong  and  the 
other  witnesses,  as  the  one  she  had  "Seen  Jules  Grieveau  write 
and  sign,  and  which  she  had  afterwards  given  to  Spideler  at  his 
request."  She  also  swore,  "That  Spideler  did  not  deny  making 
these  statements  to  Jules,  or  that  he  had  influenced  him  to  do 
the  dreadful  deed  of  shooting  the  President,  or  that  he  was  at 
the  time  working  in  the  interests  of  Cronksey  and  Smith. 

"All  I  have  stated  is  true,  so  help  me  God!"  exclaimed  the 
woman  falling  headlong  from  her  seat  in  the  witness-box.  She 
was  found  to  be  dead — gone  beyond  recall;  her  last  earnest 
words  still  sounding  in  their  ears. 

This  episode  delayed  for  a  short  time  only  the  business  be- 
fore the  court. 

Upon  the  testimony  which  had  been  produced,  the  case  was 
allowed  to  go  to  the  jury  by  the  prosecution.  No  defense  was 
attempted  except  the  point  blank  denial  of  the  two  men  accused, 
which  went  for  naught  both  in  the  minds  of  the  jury  and  the 
people. 

Had  the  verdict  been  returned  of  "not  guilty,"  so  enraged 
had  the  populace  become,  the  accused  must  surely  have  suffered 
death  before  they  reached  the  court  house  portico. 

When  the  announcement  was  finally  made  of  "guilty,"  Silas 
Smith  as  the  instigator  and  the  Doctor  as  accessory  to  the  mur- 
der of  the  late  President,  the  vast  crowd  dispersed,  well  satisfied, 
to  their  homes. 

The  incumbent  President,  Gen.  John  A.  Gascoigne,  the 
honored  General-in-Chief  of  the  army,  and  others  more  or  less 
mixed  up  in  the  intrigue;  who  at  the  last  had  weakly  allowed 
themselves  to  become  enthralled  by  the  horror  of  the  situation,. 


lVI/0   WERE  TO  BLAME.  311 

not  daring  bravely  to  face  the  popular  clamor  in  the  interest  of 
truth  and  justice,  thus  averting  a  w^rong;  w^ere  long  ere  this 
verdict  w^as  rendered,  excused  in  the  minds  of  the  people  from 
any  supposed  complicity  in  the  terrible  tragedy  perpetrated 
without  their  actual  knowledgfe. 

But  the  Confessor  and  the  Attorney,  who  united  in  so  shame- 
fully deceiving  poor  Jules  Grieveau,  his  friends,  and  the  people 
no  less  than  they,  in  the  endeavor  to  conceal  and  cover  from 
view  the  slimy  track  left  behind  him,  of  that  political  serpent 
named  "the  Stalwarts;"  and  J.  G.  Bamboozle  as  well,  whose  dou- 
ble-faced treachery  helped  '■'■wreck  a  President^''''  were  each  and 
all  ever  after  under  a  ban  of  reproach,  because  of  their  nefarious 
conduct;  and  finding  the  climate  of  the  United  States  uncom- 
fortably cool,  they  wisely  departed  for  foreign  parts,  remain- 
ing permanently  abroad. 

After  the  usual  preliminaries,  legal  and  otherwise,  had  tran- 
spired, everything  possible  being  done  to  delay  the  event  which 
could  be  devised  by  the  two  felons,  who,  notwithstanding  all, 
still  commanded  great  wealth  and  influence;  they  were  executed, 
both  Silas  Smith,  che  typical  intriguer,  and  the  typical  Doctor, 
on  "black"  Friday,  but  a  few  months  after  Jules  Grieveau's  brave 
death  cry  "Ready,  Glory!"  had  resounded  from  the  same  scaf- 
fold. 

They  came  pinioned  from  their  cells,  quaking  with  fear, 
begging  piteously  for  that  mercy  which  they  had  not  given; 
but  the  time  had  come,  there  was  no  reprieve. 

As  the  secret  hand  pulled  the  hidden  rope,  launching  their 
sin-burdened  souls  upon  the  sea  of  Eternity,  all  who  remem- 
bered the  gambling  in  Wall  Street  stocks,  as  the  cypher  dis- 
patches informed  of  a  dying  victim's  fevered  vibrating  pulse; 
and  the  horrible  persistent  probing,  torturing  a  Martyred  Presi- 
dent to  his  death;  could  not  but  feel  that  a  just  retribution  had 
been  visited  upon  these  who  were  certainly  to  blame,  whoever 
else  may  have  been  concerned  in  this  wrong  to  individuals  and 
to  the  Nation. 

But  still  let  us  believe,  that  from  the  beginning  was  foundation 
laid  of  some  plan,  whereby  every  creature,  even  though  griev- 
ously sinning  and  heavily  chastened ;  yet  in  the  rolling  cycles 
of  the  ages,  coming  at  last  to  recognize  the  Great  Logos  the 
Loving  Mediator  from  Everlasting  to  Everlasting,  and  find- 
ing repentence,  surely  also  forgivness,  and  the  Infinite  blessing 
of  Jehovah's  peace. 

THE    END. 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 

Wilmer 
837 


